


Nothing Left to Lose

by coffeeandcharacters



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Demon Cage, Demon Lexa, Demonic Possession, Demons, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Family Drama, Friendship, Minor Character Death, Monsters, Parent Death, Possession, Protective Bellamy, Protective Siblings, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Thief Clarke, slightly OOC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-05-24 10:38:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6150880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandcharacters/pseuds/coffeeandcharacters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy and Octavia Blake are hunters - they've lived their life on the road finding and killing supernatural creatures across the country. They've been dealing with the recent death of their mother when they meet the mysterious Clarke Griffin - she's a collector of rare supernatural objects and has a habit of getting in the way of Bellamy and Octavia's hunt. She's confident and skilled, but Clarke has a dark past, a lot of secrets, and blood on her hands.</p><p>Supernatural AU!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I based this work heavily on both Supernatural and The 100, obviously. Those of you who've watched Supernatural will notice character parallels, but if you've never seen it, no worries, you won't get lost! I've seriously had so much fun setting up this world and I am so excited to write more chapters! This fic follows heavily on a few key aspects of Supernatural, but diverges in certain ways...
> 
>  
> 
> .
> 
> Happy reading!!! Follow my tumblr too! Same username: coffeeandcharacters :-)

It was a shitty night to go for a hunt - rainy and cold - but Bellamy Blake couldn't seem to get the smile off of his face. He'd been waiting all too long to finally come face to face with an Ōkami and today, they'd gotten word on one in an old abandoned neighborhood just west of Detroit. Armed with the rare bamboo stake Kane had given them, Bellamy was reminded of Kane's warning right before he left his house: _"Seriously, Bellamy. Don't lose that, okay? It was blessed by an ancient Shinto priest. Only a few of those stakes exist in the world."_

Bellamy and Octavia were about five minutes away from the neighborhood as Bellamy drove his 1967 Chevy Impala down the old, quiet streets. Octavia was in the passenger seat sharpening her many knives that she keeps sheathed on various parts of her body. No doubt dangerous to have a blade out in a moving car, but Octavia was in her element. Guns were never her thing - she preferred the personal kill of a blade. Bellamy smiled as he looked over at his sister so focused on the task at hand.

She was young for her level of talent with those weapons, but she's had years of practice. She was only seven when their mother Aurora first taught her how to swing the blade with enough force to kill something. Ten years later, and she's a master at it. Her dark eyes caught Bellamy stealing a glance at her.

"What?" she asked, a slight smile on her face.

He smiled back. "Nothing."

She sheathed the blade she was working on and started to braid back a side of her long, dark brown hair. "So, how close are we?"

"It's coming up here soon," he sighed, running one hand through his own dark curls. "Look, this is a new situation for the both of us, so I want you to - " Bellamy started.

"Bell, calm down. I've got this," she answered. Bellamy knew she was tough and smart, but he couldn't help but worry about her. She was his little sister, after all.

They pulled off the side of the street and parked the Impala. Sliding out of the car, Bellamy opened the trunk and to reveal an arsenal of supernatural weapons. Knives, guns, salt, holy water ... their hidden stash had enough to kill off most things they fought on an everyday basis. But Bellamy couldn't help but feel giddy as he grabbed the rare bamboo stake from the trunk and stashed it in his coat. One stab right to the heart with this thing and that creature would be done for.

He and Octavia had seen a lot in their years of hunting. So much, that they figured there weren't many new hunting experiences left. Sure, they were young compared to most, but they'd seen enough ghosts, vampires, demons, and other unnatural creatures to last them a lifetime. It wasn't his favorite job, but it was the one he and Octavia were given. Hell, he'd give anything to give Octavia a normal, teenage life. But once you know about the supernatural and can do something about it, you can't turn your back on the innocent lives that suffer at the hands of hellish creatures. Hunting wasn't exactly a choice for Bellamy, but that doesn't mean he didn't grow to enjoy the job.

Bellamy looked at his sister. She was so beautiful, with her dark features and endlessly braided hair. The older she got, the more guys she attracted, which was a nightmare for Bellamy, who still saw her the same way he did when he was six years old and staring at his newborn baby sister. They were only half-siblings, but they shared the same dark hair, brown eyes, and olive skin tone.

The cold wind bit at Bellamy's neck as he pulled the collar of his leather jacket up. "Ready?" he asked.

"Hell yes," she replied.

They started walking down an alley between two townhomes. This neighborhood was rough and only had a few inhabitants who stuck around, but tonight it was as if it were completely abandoned. The homes had seen years of wear and tear and many were crumbling down. Graffiti, empty bottles, and the occasional scuffle of a rodent seemed to be the only signs of life tonight. It was just past midnight as the siblings searched alleyway after alleyway, trying to get a grasp as to where the Ōkami could be hiding. Only the sounds of Bellamy and Octavia's steps echoed off the brick walls and down the street.

"Alright Bell, I think it's time to start searching some of these homes. I'll start at the end of the street," Octavia suggested.

Bellamy shot her a look that screamed ' _as if_ '. "You know I'm not letting you out of my sight, O. This thing is dangerous, and -- "

Suddenly, Bellamy and Octavia heard footsteps coming from the alleyway just around the corner. They shared a glance and armed themselves; Octavia with a silver blade and Bellamy with the bamboo stake. These weren't just any footsteps, they were the fast-paced, heavy steps of someone in a full sprint. Prepped and ready, the Blakes prepared to see their kill as they turned the corner onto the adjacent alley only to see a young woman.

The woman caught a glimpse of them and started running in their direction. "Oh, thank God! Help! You have to help!" Arms flailing and sobs escaping with every breath, Bellamy shot a look over to Octavia as they kept their weapons in front of them. The girl was crying hysterically and her face was red from the running and the tears. The girl scanned Bellamy and Octavia apprehensively, noticing their weapons, but approached them all the same.

"Please! You have to help me! That ... thing, that ... creature took my friend," she sobbed, pulling a strand of her hair from where it stuck to her wet face. "He took her and he killed her ... she's dead... on my God, she's dead..."

Bellamy and Octavia shared a look. She had to be talking about the Ōkami.

Bellamy held his hands up innocently, holding the stake's end away from the girl. Slowly he approached her. "Okay, woah, it'll be okay, I promise. You're safe now." He pleads, placing one hand on her shoulder. "What's your name?"

"Kelsey," she replied.

She looked no older than Octavia, Bellamy thought. She had long red hair with layers that grazed her shoulders, curving around her soft jawline. She wasn't that much shorter than Bellamy and had bright blue eyes that frantically flashed back and forth between him and his sister. She had on a jacket over a short dress, both of which looked as if they had been torn by the Ōkami's claws. Bellamy's brotherly instincts kicked in as he thought, _what is she wearing? It's freezing out!_ But the short dress revealed her long legs, which he may or may not have spent a little too long lingering over.

"Kelsey, I'm Bellamy, this is my sister Octavia." He added, jolting his head in his sister's direction.

"Nothing bad will happen to you when you're with us. We promise. But we need you to tell us where to find it." Octavia added softly. She'd always been good at keeping witnesses calm.

"Wait, what - no! You can't go back there! It'll kill you! Like it killed Rachael!" Kelsey had wild eyes that went back and forth between Bellamy and Octavia, in disbelief. "It took her from the street, it tried to take me too ... but I - I got away. I tried to follow it, follow her screams, but I ran when they stopped ... I just knew it killed her." Soft sobs escaped from her mouth as she pulled her composure together.

"This is what we do, we can handle this. We can kill this thing. For you, for your friend Rachael. We can make sure it doesn't hurt anyone else. We just need you to tell us where it was," Bellamy pleaded.

Kelsey took a deep breath and looked at him. "It's down the street, the one on the corner with the front porch and the boards in the window."

Suddenly it dawned on Bellamy why these two girls were in such a rough neighborhood at this time of night, but that wasn't the pressing matter at the time. He reminded himself to chastise her about that after this case was through.

"Okay, we'll go and take care of this. Now you go find somewhere with people, somewhere safe, and stay there," Octavia said, pulling Kelsey's hand to lead her in the right direction.

Her eyes grew wide. "No! No, I'm going with you!"

"Absolutely not," Bellamy responded.

"Yes! My friend died in there and I'm going back! I'm going to help you kill this thing. It can't -" she sobbed. "It can't get away with this. I'm going with you."

He sighed. "You're not prepared for this. I'm sorry about your friend but you're not coming with us."

"Well, you can't stop me from following you," she answered, suddenly determined. Bellamy huffed to himself, started to reply, but then stopped. This is how innocent people got killed. They had no idea what they're running into and had blind heroism to guide them. There's no way this girl could even set foot into the house without freaking out on them, let alone fight the damned thing. But Kelsey was still staring at them. Eyes wide, eyebrows furrowed, and a look of sheer determination on her face. She wasn't budging, he realized. She really wanted to go.

The Blakes gave each other a look and then Octavia reached down and pulled a knife out from a sheath strapped to her thigh and handed it to the girl. "Here. This will hurt the thing if it comes for you, but it won't kill it. Be careful with this. Only use it if you need to."

"Okay ..." she looked at the knife apprehensively, eyes darting from the knife to the siblings. "Wait, why do you have a stick?" she asked Bellamy.

Bellamy scoffed. "It's not a stick, it's a blessed bamboo stake that will kill this thing. Silver knives burn it, but this is the only thing that can really kill it."

"But... it's a stick! I mean, have you seen this thing?! That can't kill it!" she exclaimed. She was right to believe that. This creature, which resembled a human, had terrifyingly sharp claws and razor-like teeth. They fed on humans, and Bellamy assumed her friend Rachael was its last meal.

"Look, just stay behind us and stay quiet, okay?" Bellamy remarked. The rest of the way towards the house was silent.

\----------

They found their way to the house Kelsey described, and Bellamy gave Octavia the signal to stay close and to follow his lead. As they walked up the front porch steps, Bellamy could hear the girl's quiet breaths right behind him. She was following him awfully close - not that he minded. He turned to look at her face. She was terrified and still had bright red cheeks from all the sobbing, but she was beautiful with a look of pure determination. Bellamy admired her bravery, even though this courage could get her killed. It took serious guts for a civilian to come _back_ to face a creature.

"What?" She whispered, staring at him with her bright blue eyes.

He shook his head. "Nothing. Just stay close, okay?"

Slowly, Bellamy opened up the front door and entered the house as the girls followed. It was in shambles, like most of the houses in the area. Rotting furniture, a thick layer of dust and dirt on every surface, and boards covering the windows that only let in small slivers of yellow light from the streetlamps outside. There were stairs leading to a landing right near the front door, a small living room, and a kitchen that wrapped around the back of the house. Octavia disappeared around the corner to the kitchen as Bellamy and Kelsey searched around the living room.

"It was upstairs. That's where he took her ... that's where he killed her ..." Kelsey whispered. Her voice trembled a bit as she remembered the recent events.

Bellamy looked at the girl. "Okay, you can stay in the living room, it's safe here. Octavia and I will take care of this."

Kelsey grabbed his arm as he started towards the stairs. "No," she argued. "I said I was coming with you." Her eyes cut into his as he realized that she really wasn't backing down.

He gave her a slight nod and looked at Octavia who had just returned from the kitchen. She looked down at the knife Kelsey held haphazardly in her hands.

Octavia repositioned the knife in Kelsey's hands. "If you have to, aim for the throat. Slash, don't stab. Make it deep."

Kelsey looked at Octavia with wild eyes, but nodded slightly. She gripped the knife so tight that her knuckles began to turn white.

With Bellamy in front, Octavia trailing, and Kelsey between the two, they climbed the stairs and heard a low grumble coming from the bedroom just off the landing.

There was a quick glance shared between the three of them before Bellamy kicked the door in.

The Ōkami snarled from the corner as it charged its way over towards Bellamy. He pulled his arm up to stab, but it attacked and knocked him down to the ground. With the two on the floor, Octavia seized her chance to stab the Ōkami in the back with her silver blade. It recoiled, blade still lodged in its back, and swung its arm at her. The force caused Octavia to fly back and slam against the wall. This gave Bellamy the chance to pick up the stake that had fallen out of his hands and stab the distracted Ōkami right through the heart.

It gasped and bled, and what felt like two tons of weight fell on Bellamy as the Ōkami collapsed on top of him. He pushed the creature off of him, stood up, and walked over to help Octavia.

"You good?" He asked her, taking her hand.

"Yeah, that son of bitch has some power, I'll give him that. I'll feel this tomorrow," she laughed, standing up to brush dust and dirt off her pants. The siblings smiled at each other as they started towards the door only to find a dumbfounded Kelsey standing in the doorframe.

"Oh my god! That stake really killed it! What the hell?!" Kelsey exclaimed.

Bellamy, winded and exhausted from the scuffle with the Ōkami, started walking towards their kill and pulled the stake out of it's chest.

"Look -" he started, turning towards her but only saw the flash of her fist before it crashed down onto his jaw. Next thing he knew he had a stinging pain on the side of his face and was on the hardwood floors of the bedroom.

"What the hell?" Bellamy exclaimed, clutching his jaw and eyes wild looking at his attacker.

Octavia began to approach her, but Kelsey, armed with a gleaming smile and a devious look in her eyes, pushed Octavia into the wall, grabbed the bamboo stake off of the floor where Bellamy had dropped it, and slammed the door to the bedroom, leaving them behind.

The Blakes gave each other wild looks as they raced to the door and pulled on the handle. It was locked.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Bellamy spat though the door. "Kelsey -"

Kelsey laughed from the other side. "You two were _truly_ my heroes tonight," she remarked sarcastically. "Thank you. Oh, and thanks for the rare stake, too. You know there's only a few of these in the world?" she teased. They heard her footsteps down the stairs and the creak of the front door as she left.

As Octavia used one of her knives to try to jam the lock open, Bellamy angrily pounded on the door and slammed it with his shoulder to see it would give way. Soon enough their efforts succeeded and they swung the door open.

"Dammit!" Octavia yelled, and the two raced down the stairs and out the front door. The night was cold and still as the Blakes ran out and scanned the desolate neighborhood. They saw the silhouette of Kelsey in the distance under a streetlight and, realizing she had an audience, Kelsey turned to face them, stake in hand as she pulled on her long red hair to reveal a cascade of blonde waves underneath. Flashing a smile and tossing the wig to the ground, she disappeared between two houses as Bellamy and Octavia started after her. They rounded the corner to follow but she was nowhere to be found. Kelsey - or whoever she was - and the stake were gone, slipped right out from their hands.

\----------

Bellamy swung the door open to the motel room and slammed his bag onto the table. Storming into the room, he let out a frustrated scream. "She made us believe it had her friend! God, she used us!"

"Hey!" Octavia replied. She crossed the room over to her brother and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Listen, we'll find the stake again. We'll get it back."

He ran his hands through his dark, wavy hair and let out a sigh. Kane was going to be pissed. "Okay, okay."

The Blakes stood in silence for a moment before Octavia broke it with a soft whisper. "Who do you think she was? A demon? Shapeshifter?"

Bellamy looked up at his sister. "No, I don't think she was anything supernatural. I think she's just a thieving little bitch."

Octavia scoffed. "Well she had skill, I'll give her that. Takes a lot to pull one over on us."

Bellamy shot her an annoyed look. He _hated_ that she tricked them, that he didn't see past the ruse. He had felt something was off when he thought of two young girls in that part of town, but dismissed it as bad luck or simple stupidity on the girls’ part. She played the role of damsel in distress very well, he thought. A little too well for this to be her first time doing so.

"Let's call Kane, okay? Maybe he knows who she is," Octavia suggested.

He agreed. Kane knew a lot more people in the hunter community than they did, and he had a skill of not pissing them off like the Blakes seemed to do all too often.

Octavia picked up her cell phone and lounged on the bed as she clicked his contact and put it on speaker. Kane picked up after the second ring.

"Hello? You guys alright?" He sounded a bit frantic. Bellamy and Octavia had a habit of only calling when they needed patched up or were in over their heads on a case.

"Yeah, Kane, we're fine. Just a couple of bruised egos, that's all," Octavia replied, giving Bellamy a sorry look. He rolled his eyes and picked up the phone.

"We were ambushed. Some little blonde played us and stole the bamboo stake right out of our hands after the kill. She was good, Kane. Trained," Bellamy scoffed.

"Blonde, you say?" Kane asked.

"Yeah, with blue eyes. Killer curves, too," Octavia shot him a warning look. "Couldn't have been more than eighteen. You know her, Kane?" Bellamy replied.

Kane was silent for a few seconds before letting out a solemn laugh.

Bellamy and Octavia gave each other a confused look.

"What's so funny?" Octavia questioned.

"Sounds like you two finally met Clarke Griffin."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG! You guys are seriously so awesome for reading! Thank you!
> 
> Here's my intro into my secretive Clarke! And an intro into a mysterious, complex new character!
> 
> Happy reading! :-)

Clarke smiled to herself as she slid into the front seat of her car and placed the stake in the passenger seat. She looked into the rearview mirror and wiped the mascara and tears from her face. The red hair had been a nice change against her fair skin, but the blonde hair, blue eyes combination was good for business.

Sitting behind the wheel, she shimmied out of the torn dress and jacket and changed into a pair of skinny jeans, combat boots, a skimpy tank top, and a cropped leather jacket. Playing Kelsey was fun, and so was the effect it had on Bellamy Blake. It kept him distracted from her whole gig and more importantly, her infamous blue eyes. She had no idea if the Blakes knew who she was (she was starting to think that there weren’t many hunters left who didn’t know her tricks), but she was grateful that her eyes didn’t give her away. They’d given her a signature for infamy – the big, bright blue eyes could turn her into the angel she needed to play or they could be the most enticing thing she could use to play a seductress to lure men in. She’d thought about using contacts, but her eyes were like a little Easter egg she left everywhere she left. She could wear wigs, different styles of clothes, take on different personalities, but her eyes always remained that clear blue. People like the Blakes, who realized she wasn’t _really_ who she said she was, were left with the only real thing about her and they could agonize over them and how the woman behind those eyes tricked them. One of these days this confident behavior would cause problems, but every day that went by, she cared less.

A quick glance at the clock caused a tightening in her chest as her dick of a subconscious reminded her of the countdown, the number of days left that haunted and followed her everywhere she went … but like she’d always done, she swallowed and ignored that issue. She’d finally gotten the object she’d been following and researching for two weeks now and she was anxious for her payout. As she started the car and put it in drive, she picked up her cell phone and dialed her buyer’s number.

“Hey, I got it. Meet you at the usual place? I can be there in 30 minutes.”

She hung up the phone after the concise conversation and started towards the meeting place. She imagined the look on her buyers face when he saw the rare stake he’d contracted her to find. She was no doubt the best at what she did – if she wasn’t the only one who did exactly what she did.

After driving across the city, Clarke pulled up to the side of the building and put the car in park. One last look in the rearview mirror to fluff her hair and apply some bright red lipstick before heading into the sale. Ironically, Clarke hated the idea of using her body, using her looks, her femininity as an advantage, but it made for good business. She would use her body to her own advantage, but hated men for somehow trusting her more because she put on a pushup bra or wore a short skirt. Clarke was smart – she was cunning and sharp and could fight her way out of any situation – yet her body and her long blonde hair were seemingly the only thing men respected or even noticed. She stared at herself in the mirror for a second longer – allowing herself one more second of self-shaming before she slid out of the car with the stake tucked in her jacket. She usually wouldn’t bother too much on looks for a sale, but this buyer had a soft spot for her looks, and she could honestly use all the help she could get from him. He was skeevy, but his connections and contacts were undeniable and she was starting to get desperate for more leads, more questions, more answers. Lately she’d been stuck with a noticeable lack of all three.

Clarke, along with the hidden stake, walked confidently into the side door of Ark Industries, a chemical distribution factory. Their Detroit headquarters were run-down and seedy on the outside, no doubt a reflection of her buyer and the CEO of the company. The plant sat high on a hill with a view of downtown’s twinkling lights in the distance. As she approached the outside doors that were guarded by two armed guards, Clarke let out a small scoff. She was heavily admired by her buyer, but he was also very aware of her skillset. She didn’t quite blame him for the firearms and the manpower protecting his factory. She smiled slightly to the guards as she stopped in front of the doors.

“I’m here for the sale. He knows I’m coming,” she stated.

The guards exchanged a look as one of them ran a keycard across a reader and the doors unlocked with a small pop. Pulling the doors open, Clarke entered the long, sterile hallway. The outside soot and smoke make a stark contrast to the cleanliness of the hallway. Blindingly white and annoyingly polished, the interior of the factory more resembled a spaceship than a factory. She walked the length of the long hallway until she reached the end where there were two large, black French doors. Placing a hand on each handle, she pulled the doors apart. She may not be in charge here, but her confidence walking into the sale gave her an edge and a smart advantage.

“You’re late.”

“Oh, Murphy, don’t get your panties in a bunch,” she teased, standing in the doorway. “Acquiring these things isn’t always an easy job, especially when I have to play around gullible hunters.”

Clarke walked into the immaculately decorated office, but stopped in the middle of the square room. She kept her distance from the desk and her back to the doors. The office had floor-to-ceiling windows that wrapped around three of the four walls. The windows were spotlessly clean and looked out onto the twinkling skyline. Angled, uncomfortable chairs sat in front of the enormous wood desk that stood out from the modern furniture. The deep cherry wood was waxed and polished expertly and Clarke couldn’t help but feel as if it were curiously out of place – the antique desk was nostalgia in a place where modernity dominated.

Murphy was standing behind his desk dressed an expertly fitted black suit. He had his back to her and his arms crossed in front of him as he stared out the rainy window onto the Detroit skyline. Two more guards stood on either side of the room, watching Clarke with intimidating grimaces on their faces. Dressed in black t-shirts, cargo pants, and combat boots, they dressed as if they were about to venture into a dangerous jungle, not protect a lanky young businessman. One of the men held a large duffle bag and the other had his hands crossed in front of his body, no doubt to show Clarke his large biceps. Clarke gave each of them a sly, quick smile. They saw her as a threat, but she wasn’t fazed by their show of strength one bit. Murphy was too enamored with Clarke to ever have his roid-raged guards lay a hand on her.

After a few seconds of silence, Murphy turned to look at her. Initially his eyes were sharp, no doubt annoyance for her tardiness, but they noticeably softened when he looked at her figure, his gaze lingering on her low cut top. She was disgusted on the inside but kept her seductive smile on her face. Clarke stood up taller, playing on Murphy’s obvious interests. She had him in her grasp simply because of what she was wearing. His approval of her clothing choice made him a pawn in this situation, further verifying Clarke’s dominance in the room. The power of the situation slipped into Clarke’s grasp, right where she wanted it.

His soft eyes on Clarke reminded her of the first time she’d ever met John Murphy, nearly three years ago.

\----------

Sixteen year-old Clarke walked briskly down an alleyway and ducked between two dumpsters. She crouched down and out of sight just as two men rushed into that same alleyway.

“Shit,” one of the men exclaimed. “You go ahead, I’ll see if she circled back. Meet back at the car in ten. Radio me if you catch any leads.”

“Copy that,” the other man responded. Heavy footsteps passed the two dumpsters Clarke was hiding between as she shrunk herself even further into the cold metal. She cursed at herself for that close encounter with the Feds. It wasn’t the first time they’d caught onto Clarke’s illegal business she had been running. She’d been selling rare objects for two years now and Clarke was running out of aliases and creative ways to avoid the law, who always seemed to be one step behind her at all times. Her acquisitions weren’t always legal – no, they were _always_ illegal. She stole from pockets of distracted hunters, swiped objects from unsecured displays, and broke into the homes of private collectors and museums in need of a security update. Not to mention she was selling all of her items on the Black Market. Theft, breaking and entering, assault … Clarke had quite the reputation. The Feds didn’t have a name for her, though. They saw her only as a young, reckless delinquent they couldn’t quite corner.

She doubted if the agents could ever link her crimes to her name – she was, after all, in the center of a white-collar sob story. Clarke was the lonely, orphaned child of the late high-profile scientists Jake and Abby Griffin, who lived her days receiving private education in their expansive Arlington estate and still struggled with her parent’s death nine years later.

 _If they only knew_ , she scoffed. Clarke’s story had circulated the country clubs and political offices, but she didn’t care. As long as they saw her as an innocent girl, they would never expect her to be the wanted teenage thief who kept ditching the cops.

Clarke was one sketchy meetup with a potential buyer away from spending the next two years leading up to her eighteenth birthday behind the cold, sterile walls of a juvenile detention center. This time, Clarke fell victim to her own desperation to get a charmed rabbit’s foot out of her collection and failed to do the necessary research on a buyer, leading her right into an undercover FBI operation. She realized her mistake as soon as the obvious cops walked into the café on the outskirts of DC. Without a second thought, her fight or flight instinct kicked in as she bolted for the kitchen exit and began running down the narrow alleyways, leading her to her current situation of being sandwiched in between two grimy dumpsters.

After the coast was clear, she slowly emerged from the cramped space and hesitantly looked around. Stepping out of the alleyway and onto a busy street, Clarke pulled her hoodie further up to shield her eyes as she walked with purpose away from the café. Once she was a few blocks away, she pulled the rabbits foot wrapped in cloth from her jacket pocket. She was careful not to touch it with her skin – she was only interested in getting money for it, not using it for herself. Staring at the fuzzy little thing, she shoved it back into her pocket and wished she’d never duped the hunter she stole it from in the first place. She’d gotten him sufficiently intoxicated at a North Carolina dive bar before she swiped the foot from the man as he slipped into a drunken slumber on the bar top.

Walking in the DC night, Clarke found her car she had parked a safe distance away. Sliding into her car, the young Clarke let her emotions show as she slammed her fist into the dash. She recoiled, expecting pain where she only felt relief. She let out a frustrated yell as she slammed her fist down again, again, again. Her knuckles were bruised and blood had begun to seep through the new cracks she’d created, but her whole hand felt numb. In fact, her entire body felt numb. This thin line she was walking was becoming more dangerous with every step, but it wasn’t the cops that sent chills down Clarke’s spine. She stared out the car window for a few moments before taking a deep breath in and calmly putting the car into drive.

A few days later, Clarke was out scoping a small, local museum that housed historic maritime objects in the small seaside town of Chesapeake Beach, Maryland. She was ducking from bush to bush right outside the museum’s walls, hiding under the blanket of a marine-scented night. She looked at the alarms on the old windows and cursed to herself. These were recently updated – no way the windows would work as her entry point. Scrounging her brain for another way in, Clarke backed out of the bush only to bump into a man who let out a small “oof.”

Clarke gasped and whipped her head around to come face-to-face with an immaculately dressed man. She stepped back to assess her situation and also noticed two large, stoic men – presumably security detail – that stood a few feet back from the well-dressed man. He couldn’t have been more than twenty five, and had slicked back hair that somehow looked both hard and greasy at the same time. His expression was inquisitive as he kept his hooded eyes on her and his hands in his pockets. He looked her up and down, no doubt noticing the newfound curves of her teenage body. Confidence surrounded him as he smiled at her with an all-too knowing disposition on his face.

Clarke looked at the group of men with wild eyes and a slacked jaw as she stammered around her words and struggled to find something to say, some excuse that would explain her current suspicious whereabouts.

“My cat…” she stuttered. “He, uh… he ran into these bushes. I was just looking for him.”

The young man only smiled at Clarke as he kept firm eye contact. His eyes narrowed as he considered her statement, only to let out a small chuckle. “I’ve been looking for you for quite a while now, Clarke Griffin. I must admit you’re hard to pin down.”

He paused at her shock of him using her name. “John Murphy,” he revealed, extending a hand in front of him.

Clarke only stared at him and his expectant hand with a look of complete shock. She’d finally been made. This confident man, this John Murphy – most likely an undercover Fed – had put the pieces together and now she was done for.

The man saw her panic and placed his hand on Clarke’s shoulder. “Relax, I’m not a cop.”

When she finally found the words in between her disbelief and confusion, Clarke whispered, “What do you want from me?”

“Clarke, you’re smart,” Murphy responded. “No detective will be able to link privileged, parentless Clarke Griffin to illicit Black Market activities.” His words were reassuring, but Clarke was still on edge.

“How did you … how _do_ you –“ she stammered.

Murphy cut her off. “I know a lot, Clarke. We have similar interests. I’m not here tonight to bust you, I’m here to hire you.”

Clarke’s confusion spiked once more as she stared slack-jawed at him. Who was this man? Her questioning of his proposal caused her eyebrows to furrow in distrust, but the honest looks he gave her were real. He meant what he said.

“Hire me?” she questioned.

He stepped to Clarke’s side as he gently put an arm around her shoulders and pushed the two to begin walking off the museum grounds and towards the street. The guards followed as Murphy sighed and looked into the night sky. “Yes, Clarke, hire you. I have a certain … clientele who would be very interested in the type of objects you acquire. Your methods are a bit sloppy, but your skillset is organic. I believe with my resources, we could form a beautiful business.”

They paused as they hit the sidewalk and Murphy turned towards Clarke, who was still processing his offer. Her eyes darted everywhere but avoided his eyes. She had no idea what to think. Part of her was interested in a business deal where she wasn’t the seller. If she was only responsible for acquisition, her life would become significantly less complicated without having to deal with the FBI tracking her sales. However, Clarke was hesitant to agree to anything too soon. She’d come so far on her own, made a life on her own, and she didn’t want to become a pawn in someone else’s game.

  
He could see the options weighing on Clarke as he reached into his jacket and held out a business card. “When you’ve made a decision, call me.”

She took the small card from his hands and held it hesitantly in hers. Looking up to meet his eyes, she only saw shadows. The dimly lit street backlit the silhouette of Murphy's face, highlighting his sharp nose and pointed chin as he patrolled the desolate seaside street. He noticed Clarke's analyzing looks and met his eyes with hers. The shadow of a genuine smile crawled across his face as he and his guards turned and walked away into the Maryland night.

Clarke looked down at the business card only to find the name and number that apparently belonged to the mysterious John Murphy.

\----------

Murphy was the CEO of Ark Industries and remained one of the most elusive men Clarke had ever met. He took over his family’s company five years ago after the mysterious death of his work obsessed and all-too absent father. He was a young CEO, but when he assumed control the company at his father’s passing, he began to buy out his workers and create his many side operations – one of which was the distribution of rare and supernatural objects. Ever since their first encounter when Clarke was sixteen, she’d entered a business deal with him where she’d work on jobs Murphy commissioned her to do, and she’d usually research and track down that object within a week. The sales all went the same – she’d come in with said object, Murphy would make obvious sexual advances and cryptic moves, and Clarke would walk out with her payout and wait for his next call. As of late, Murphy had been sending her on multiple specific missions and kept her busier than usual, but she didn’t mind the distraction. Working through Murphy made business a lot cleaner, much simpler, and left Clarke with little to no ties with the illicit activities.

Murphy been attracted to her physicality since the first time they’d met. Even though he was nearly ten years her senior, she never let that fact get to her when it came to their deals. As much as it made her insides squirm, she dressed how she knew he’d like so he’d be malleable in her hands. Working with Murphy, Clarke had improved her skillsets sevenfold and maintained a perfect record for acquisition, but she felt as if none of that mattered when she saw the way he looked at her curves. She’d wished that there was another collector or buyer that could take some of this business, some of his attention from her, but she also realized the uniqueness of her job. As far as she was concerned, she was alone on this venture.

“So how’s my little thief tonight?” he asked, eyes finally making their way up to meet hers.

“I prefer the term ‘collector of rare objects,’ Murphy. You know that. ‘Thief’ has such a … negative connotation. Can’t have the shadow of that word hanging around my reputation,” she answered coyly.

He crossed over the room slowly and came dangerously close to Clarke. She recoiled slightly as her back tensed, but acted interested in his advance, giving him another seductive smile. He placed one hand on the curve of her hip and she wanted nothing more than to snap his arm around his back, breaking it and preventing him from ever doing that again. Alas, she kept her dark fantasy to herself and filed it away for their final sale, when she could finally say and do anything she’d wanted to these past three years.

“Oh, but being bad looks _so_ good on you…” he said, leaning in to run his thin lips dangerously close to the curve of her neck. She craned her head back and clenched her jaw in reaction to his movements.

She restrained as much of an eye roll as she could as she ached to get this deal over with. Clarke reached into her jacket and began pulling out the stake. Immediately, Murphy’s guards reached for the guns holstered on their waists and she froze. She stared into the guard’s eyes with annoyance as she cleared her throat, signaling Murphy to surface from his uninvited advances and assess the situation. He did a quick take behind him to find the prepped guards only to turn back to Clarke with a grin.

Murphy waved a lazy hand behind him. “Boys, boys… Clarke here would never hurt me. Calm down.”

She still glared at the guards, their hands still on their firearms, as she finished pulling out the bamboo stake from her jacket. Handing it to Murphy, he finally took his hand off her waist and pulled all of his distracted attention towards the object. He took the stake with both hands and stared at its rustic form, glaring at it with soft eyes and a pensive look on his face. Holding it as if it could break with any uncalculated moves, he swiftly stepped away from Clarke and sat down behind his desk. He flipped on the lamp and examined the bamboo stake under the blindingly bright light. The stake wasn’t really that big – perhaps a bit shy of a foot long – and its years of existence had caused the light wood to warp and decay. Through Clarke’s research on the object, she knew the supernatural quality kept it preserved over its centuries of existence. Murphy reached to touch the red blood that stained the tip of the stake and grimaced when his finger found it was still damp. He gave a slightly disgusted look at Clarke who only smiled.

Murphy wiped his finger on a handkerchief that he pulled from his breast pocket and placed the stake carefully on the desk. “Beautifully done, Clarke. I know I can always count on you to come through. Though I will admit I was beginning to think you weren’t going to find it. Two weeks is uncharacteristically long for you to track something down …”

Her impatience slipped through as she cut off his rambling. “Yes, it’s quite the _stick_ ,” she spat the word sarcastically, mimicking her character Kelsey from earlier in the night. She rubbed her forehead to relieve the tension she was holding. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve had quite a long night.”

Murphy gave her a confused glare to what he considered a rude little outbreak and Clarke recoiled and smiled as she added, “Please.”

He gave one of his henchmen a look as the guard threw the duffle bag he’d been holding at Clarke’s feet. It landed with a loud thud and Clarke immediately crouched down and opened it up. Just as she’d expected – filled with crisp, new one hundred dollar bills.

“I think you’ll find the entirety of the money in there. Just as we agreed. Fifteen thousand,” Murphy said, a bit annoyed with an inflection of hurt as he watched Clarke finger through the bands of money. “I’d never short you, dear. Have a little faith.”

“Nothing personal, Murphy. It’s just a tough market for a businesswoman of my trade,” she responded, still counting the multiple bundles of money.

He scoffed. “You’re not wrong. You truly are one of a kind…”

Clarke looked up to see Murphy studying her with a soft expression on his face. She studied him quizzically – was he getting sentimental? Murphy then crossed the room once more to where Clarke was now standing holding the duffle bag in her right hand. He looked at her and pursed his lips as he said quietly, “It’ll truly be a shame when our little arrangement ends. I hate to see your pretty little face going to waste like that.”

She’d been restraining as much of her disgust as she could for the night, but that comment pushed that restraint to its breaking point. Her expression went from flirty to dangerous. She stared daggers into his eyes as she kept her voice low and serious. “That’s none of your business, Murphy.”

Her eyes never left his as she felt a rising tightness in her chest. How dare he bring that up, she thought to herself. How dare he talk to her like she doesn’t already _know_.

His expression remained concerned for a second more, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d imagine this was the face of a man who actually cared for her. It was foreign to Clarke to see the tenderness of Murphy's face - a face she'd only seen behind the masks of deceit, power, and greed. Then, Murphy slipped back into his devious nature as a sly smile crept up on his face and looked at her with an almost teasing disposition. She cursed to herself at her lapse in judgment from before. She knew he didn’t really care for her, not really. He only had his business on his mind. He looked at Clarke and saw money slipping away from him. Clarke’s control of the situation shifted into the hands of Murphy and he reacted positively to this situation. He had his hand over hers and he knew it. “It _is_ my business, actually. You’re my business. Did you forget that?”

“Well I’m not gone yet,” she spat, gripping the duffle bag tighter and turning her heel and pushing the French doors open so quickly that they barely had time to slam behind her before she was storming out of the factory and into the misty Michigan night.

Shoving the bag into the front seat and slamming the car door behind her, Clarke froze as she stared at the wheel. As much as she hated to admit it, Murphy was right. Her time was running out, and the closer it came, the more her gut sank.

She hated this feeling, this hopelessness. She hated time, she hated the calendar, she hated society’s obsession with the two and everything in between the days, hours, minutes, and seconds and the world’s frantic fixation with how every one of those was to be filled. What she would do just to forget about time altogether, to have the cruel mocking of a clock to stop following her wherever she went.

A stray tear fell down her cheek, but before it could splash down into her lap, she wiped it away and took a deep breath to calm herself down. _Push it down_ , she reminded herself. That had become her personal mantra as of late, and it was becoming more prevalent than ever as the hateful days ticked by. Placing the car in drive, she gunned it out of the factory’s grounds and onto the lonely, desolate roads leading her away from that horrible man and this life she’d managed to create for herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think of Murphy? Don't worry, this isn't where his story ends. We'll delve more into his life a bit later ...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter before I disappear on spring break for a week! I'll pick right back up on Chapter 4 when I come back! 
> 
> Happy reading :-)

Bellamy and Octavia drove through the night and arrived in South Dakota in the early hours of dawn. They'd spent the next day after their encounter with Clarke Griffin tying up lose ends from the Ōkami and left the slums of Detroit without taking a single look back. As they turned into Sioux Falls Auto Repair and Junkyard on the outskirts of the small city, the early dawn sun rose over the flat landscape and turned the fields of bland brown crops ablaze with hues of gold and yellow.

Bellamy drove the Impala down the gravel road, his tires grinding harshly underneath. He was tired and squinted as the rising sun shone through the windshield. The gravel drive was lined with stacks upon stacks of long-forgotten cars and vehicles of time’s past, and Bellamy shuddered as he drove his baby, his well-cared for classic car down the graveyard of its ancestors, the purr of the engine echoing off of the rusted, creaky metals. The ten acre lot meant for a long drive in, with the gravel road eventually leading to a fork in the property. One side lead to the mechanic’s auto shop and storefront, while the other looped around the back to end of the property to a homely ranch house.

Octavia reached up to pull down the sun visor and let out an annoyed sigh. They’d driven all night to get to the junkyard, a feat she wasn’t exactly a fan of, but had become accustomed to. Bellamy always insisted on driving, but not because he liked to drive all of the time. Octavia was, after all, only a teenager. Though she’d driven the Impala since long before it was deemed “legal,” Bellamy protected his beloved classic car by whatever means necessary, ergo his insistence to drive the entirety of a twelve hour trip. He was exhausted and annoyed just like his sister, but his stubborn personality shielded these truths from ever displaying on his face.

Pulling up to a modestly sized home, Bellamy put the car in park as the two Blakes mozied out of the Impala. The house certainly looked hand built – which it was – and had shaky craftsmanship with little to no frills about it. The wood paneling had peeling white paint and would likely never see a second coat. The front porch steps were splintering, but they’d never be replaced, not until they’d broken completely. Looks weren’t exactly a necessity for this home; it served several more useful purposes. Roof shingles littered the unkempt front lawn as Bellamy and Octavia walked towards the house.

The wood creaked and groaned beneath their feet as they climbed the steps of the front porch. Before they could pull open the screen and knock on the hand-carved wood of the front door, Marcus Kane swung the door open expectantly.

“Bout damn time I saw you two,” Kane said, immediately stepping onto the porch, pulling Octavia into a big hug. She accepted this show of emotion and fell into his chest, relishing in the comfort of closeness. They remained this way for a few moments before they separated, Kane keeping his hands on either side of Octavia and looking at her proudly. She’d grown noticeably since the last time Kane saw her. Bellamy recognized the look Kane was giving his sister; he often stole looks at Octavia and lately he could only notice her growth. He’d made notes of how she’d grown – the increased confidence in her eyes, her reserved smile, and the strengthening of her jawline that made her look more and more like Aurora with each day that passed.

Kane looked away from Octavia only to step closer towards Bellamy. As Bellamy muttered, “Hey Kane,” the man wrapped his arms around him. Bellamy wasn’t exactly a hugger. He wasn’t exactly a sensitive person in general, but after the last few months, the familiarity of Kane was soothing. He pulled his arms around Kane and felt security in the man’s closeness and immediately felt thankful for Kane’s role in their lives. He didn’t need to care about the orphaned Blakes, but he did. Bellamy and Kane pulled back from their embrace and shared a smile.

Kane was in his late forties, but his years of hunting had made the lines on his face more defined. The bags on his eyes had gotten heavier in the past few months, no doubt from dealing with the death of Aurora, just as Bellamy and Octavia were. He had a permanent look of suspicion on his face – he constantly questioned situations and never trusted a situation, yet another part of his hunting nature. His thick, dark hair and overgrown beard were overrun by strands of silver which added years to his actual age. Bellamy could understand the appearance of the gray hair - the stress of this life was enough to make anyone ready for the peace and quiet of old age.

Kane had been a hunter all of his life, just like the Blakes. He grew up hunting and fighting for his life with his single mother in the fields of the Dakotas. He’d never traveled like the Blakes did, but the Dakotas were notorious for attracting hellish creatures for some reason. Perhaps it was the false sense of security and peace in the plains of the Midwest that enticed the creatures, looking to create chaos and pain wherever they landed. Never married, Kane was in a full term relationship with his job.

About five years back, Kane was captured and held captive by a pack of sadistic vampires. He endured their prolonged torture and near death for almost a month before the Blakes had the chance to save him. His body nor his mind ever quite recovered from the brink of death – his back was out every other week, his joints ached, he would wake in night terrors. His mind was too fragile to withstand a hunt, so he bought land on the outskirts of Sioux Falls and operated a hunting hub under the cover of a junkyard. It was a rarity to settle down in the hunter community, but his roots were welcomed with open arms. He quickly became a reliable, permanent resource for hunters who needed help on a case, patched from an encounter with some monster, or just a place to crash while passing through.

His home looked decayed for a reason – he’d built the whole thing from scratch with wood beams soaked in salt and held in place by solid iron nails. The combination of the two created a stronghold that could deter even the strongest and most determined of spirits. He’d hand-carved Devil’s Traps, runes, and symbols into every square inch of the house to make it any demon, creature, or monster’s nightmare. It was a place where hunters could find as little peace as they’d allowed themselves to feel knowing that nothing could come crashing through the doors. As well as being supernatural-proof, it was truly a place of many resources. Kane had vaults and cabinets filled with weapons, objects, charms – you name it. The bookshelves that lined the walls of the hallway were overflowing with books and old lore on every culture, religion, and belief from around the world. Kane’s collections grew by the day, and he dedicated his resources towards helping the mortality of fellow hunters and their shared goal of ridding the earth of evil creatures.

The home operated as a sort of library, with its knowledge lendable and indispensable. Kane’s kind and giving spirit may have been seen as naïve and too trusting by some hunters, but his overall goal was to improve the way of life for all hunters – to achieve a peace in a world where peace seemed too foreign of a concept to understand.

The group walked into the home and gathered in the modestly sized kitchen. Kane made his way over to the counter with an old, rusted coffee machine sat, brewed and steaming with the hot liquid. He pulled three chipped mugs from the cabinet and sat them onto the counter.

“Easy drive?” Kane asked, pouring coffee into the mugs.

“Yeah, other than Bell’s silent treatment from Detroit to Chicago,” Octavia replied, sitting down at the cluttered kitchen table. She stacked books on top of each other and shuffled the stray newspapers into a neat pile to make room for her feet, which she promptly crossed and placed on the tabletop. She pulled out a knife and examined it as the dawn light poured into the kitchen.

Bellamy sighed and crossed the room to lean against the back wall. Kane was paused in his pouring as he gave Octavia an interesting look. Bellamy rolled his eyes – he could tell their shared looks were part of a secret, silent language they spoke through only glances. The concerned questions were coming. Bellamy looked out the window and onto the gleaming metal of the car graveyard outside.

“Still mad about Clarke Griffin?” Kane questioned, setting Octavia’s mug in front of her.

Bellamy turned to look at Kane, who now stood before him, holding a mug of steaming coffee. Taking the cup with both hands, Bellamy’s jaw tensed as he recognized the inquisitive, concerned look on Kane’s face.

“Don’t dwell on it. Just the other week she duped Monroe out of a Grimoire,” Kane responded to the silence, patting Bellamy on the arm. Though the touch was supposed to be reassuring, it brought back the anger that Bellamy had been trying to simmer down.

“Who _is_ she, Kane?” he demanded. “How do we not know about her?”

Bellamy gripped the mug tighter and paced around the kitchen as Octavia and Kane watched patiently.

“Sit down, boy,” Kane demanded, gesturing towards the kitchen table.

Bellamy, annoyed though exhausted, joined his sister at the table. His tired body rejoiced in the rest, but his mind was racing at one hundred miles per hour. Kane sat down with the siblings and took a big gulp from his mug before speaking.

“Clarke Griffin is a thorn in all of our sides. She’s a thief – breaking into museums, homes, and vaults to get what she wants. She leaves a trail of havoc and blood where ever she goes. We've even nicknamed her Wanheda, after the legendary Aurignacian* for 'Commander of Death.' Seems to suit her well. From what I’ve heard, she works for some bigshot seller who pawns off her stolen objects to hellspawn and hunters alike. Apparently this damn seller doesn’t care who he sells to, only the payouts he gets afterwards, which I’ve heard are substantial. Their entire operation is bad news, and they get in everyone’s way at some point,” Kane started.

“No one’s stopped her?” Octavia asked, pulling her feet down and sheathing her knife.

Kane chuckled in defeat. “How? We can’t kill her – no matter how much of a pain in the ass she is, she’s only a girl. Nineteen from what I’ve gathered. A few hunters I know have tried to set up police traps, but she can evade the law like she’s got a sixth sense for them. Not to mention that setting those traps puts us hunters in danger as well,” he admitted.

Bellamy agreed – all hunters did something illegal at some point in their career. Credit card scams, impersonating law enforcement officers, trespassing, and breaking and entering … Bellamy noticed the parallels between a hunter's rap sheet and Clarke Griffin’s, but reminded himself that their ways and reasoning for doing such things made them extremely different.

“Well, there has to be a way to stop her,” Bellamy added, surfacing from his thoughts.

Kane opened his mouth to speak when Bellamy interrupted him and asked, “How does a nineteen year old kid get involved in that?”

“Now that’s a question no one quite knows the answer to, though we can guess. All we know is that it started a few years ago,” Kane replied.

Bellamy scoffed as Octavia asked, “Who’s her business partner?”

“Again, no one knows,” Kane admitted. “Some hotshot with no morals, apparently.”

A few moments passed as the thoughts that seemed to be circulating around Octavia’s head came out as a quiet question. “Where’s her family?” she asked quietly.

Kane looked at the two with tender eyes and sighed. “From my own research on her, she’s an orphan. Parents died when she was young. Clarke inherited a fortune of money and the estate they left behind.”

“Wait, so she’s already loaded yet she sells stolen objects for even more money? Gets massive payouts to add to her daddy's piles of cash?” Bellamy asked angrily.

"Some people are just greedy sons of bitches," Kane responded, looking defeated and sitting back into his chair.

Bellamy, already stewing, felt another, stronger pang of anger. His whole life, he, Aurora, and Octavia had struggled to live off of credit card scams and risky gambles their mother had won at pool games and poker tables. Their jobs as hunters didn't exactly pay, so they did what they had to do to survive. They were never lavish - no Christmases, no birthdays, no luxuries. Bellamy and Octavia grew up on the bare minimum and became accustomed to a frugal way of life, bouncing from motel to motel in city after city, following hunts and suspicious news stories. The Blakes had never known comfortable living, and they grew up stronger and with thicker skin because of it.

Clarke Griffin was definitely comfortable, Bellamy decided. She had money, an estate she inherited, and yet she was risking her life and the lives of everyone she came in contact with in order to make even _more_ money. It was money she didn't need, but money she simply wanted. She'd probably never had to worry about making ends meet in her life; worrying day to day whether or not they'd have enough money to eat three meals that day. She'd never known the struggle of hunters - the way they had to live in order to put themselves in danger to save the common good. It was an unsaid rule, an unspoken way of life. No hunter entered the business willingly. There was always a tragedy, a crosshairs of some sort, or you were born into it.

Bellamy stood up quickly and the chair legs scraped against the wood floors with a loud screech. He paced across the room and leaned into the counters. Letting out a defeated yet forceful sigh, Bellamy made a decision about Clarke Griffin. She was privileged, rich, and comfortable, yet she risked life and limb to seek cheap thrills, money, and false glory to escape the comforts of her cushy life. But Clarke’s cheap thrills were exactly the opposite - she was endangering herself and those she came in contact with in her hunt for excitement. Classic teenager getting into things she didn’t understand to escape her suburban life, not truly understanding the consequences of her actions. Bellamy decided she was just a little princess.

Kane cleared his throat and Bellamy turned to face the two to see Octavia’s head down, staring into her mug. Bellamy thought the steam from the coffee was causing her face to flush until he saw a stray tear splash into the liquid below. All thoughts of Clarke Griffin left his mind as he swiftly returned to his sister’s side, crouching on the floor next to where she sat and taking her hand in his.

"O, hey, what's going on?" Bellamy asked gently.

Octavia sniffled and pulled her head up as she quickly wiped the tear stain from her face. "I'm fine," she pleaded. "I'm fine. Really." She looked out the window beside the table and took a few deep breaths to calm down the flush of red that had found its way to her cheeks.

Bellamy could tell she was trying to be strong. It had only been two months since the death of their mother Aurora. Bellamy and his mother had always had more of a working relationship - formalities for their partnership as hunters. They showed their love by watching each other's back on a hunt, and that's the way it'd always been. She was cold, calculated, and ruthless to protect her family, but she had a soft spot for her little girl. Octavia worshiped Aurora, though her tough demeanor would never let that show. Bellamy would catch tender moments between the mother and daughter; he'd witness moments between them that he would never experience for himself. Aurora loved her children, but her vendetta to avenge their father preoccupied her mind completely.

Bellamy and Octavia's father died in a house fire when Bellamy was only six years old. It happened in the middle of an unusually warm October night. He remembers his mother's screams, his father placing his infant sister in his arms and instructing him run out of the house, the cracks of the raging fire echoing in the suburban Kansas air. His sister was only six months old at the time, her little pink cheeks flush from the heat and the screams. Their mother had escaped without their father, sobbing and hysterical about the mysterious woman she'd seen just before the fire started. The fire department, having extinguished their home and recovered only the body of their father, told her there was no one else in the house and that Aurora must have been hallucinating from the heat or the oxygen depravation.

Aurora never accepted that fact and dedicated her life to figuring out who that woman was. She remembered only the fact that this mysterious woman had yellow eyes and stood over the crib of the six month old Octavia just before the flames began. Their mother scoured every end of the Internet, the libraries, any public source of education, and came out knowing more than she'd ever imagined. She'd discovered old lore of demons and monsters, and thus began her introduction into the world of the supernatural. Bellamy remembered the first time his mother described a monster to him, and when Bellamy replied that he was scared and was having nightmares about them, she gave him a silver knife. _You should be afraid of what's out there_ , she'd told him, _but always be prepared to fight whatever you're afraid of. Slay your demons when you’re awake, they won’t be there to get you in your sleep._

Bellamy and Octavia’s life consisted of school after school and constantly being the new family in town. They never stayed long – Aurora set up temporary roots in a motel room, sent her children to school, and would hunt anything she could find in the vicinity of the area. Then, when the town was rid of evil, she’d pick up her kids and start anew somewhere else. It was a harsh transition that created two children who could never make friends, never truly connect with someone other than each other. Bellamy and Octavia never complained though, they knew their life came with problems and issues that could never be shared with an outsider. That was until they met Kane. Aurora had been working on a case involving a demon in South Dakota when she and Kane crossed paths. Kane had been their first hunter friend, and became a dear confidant and ally in this dangerous world. That was nearly ten years ago, and the Blakes had been in contact with Marcus Kane regularly ever since, even after the recent death of their mother.

\----------

It was supposed to be a routine job the night Aurora was killed – there was a poltergeist in the home of a quiet family in Orlando. They'd heard about it through the tabloids, where the father of the home admitted he believed the house was haunted, attracting ridicule and sneers from everyone in the town who’d read his story. The Blakes arrived the next day, disguised as new neighbors, and quickly became trapped by the angry spirit as soon as they'd walked through the front doors of the home. The father of the family, who'd become obsessed with the idea of proving his house was indeed haunted, bought a slew of useless supplies that he believed would kill the spirit, including a Ouija board, candles, and a handgun to try and shoot the damned thing. The Blakes were unfazed by this response- the simplicity of human minds to believe that guns can kill everything was even something of an amusement to them.

Everything was going as routine - the family was safe in a salt circle on the floor of the living room as Bellamy and Aurora patrolled the home. They were armed with iron and rock salt shotguns, things that would _actually_ hurt a spirit if it manifested in front of them, and Octavia sat with the family in the salt circle, analyzing house deeds and home records to attempt to figure out the origin of the poltergeist and how to stop it. That's when the garbage disposal and home speaker systems suddenly started on their own. Aurora went to investigate the garbage disposal in the kitchen and Bellamy headed to the den towards the speakers, instructing the family to stay where they were with the now armed Octavia. Bellamy was rounding the corner of the hallway, coming back from his unsuccessful investigation, when he heard the sound of a handgun go off and Octavia scream.

He dropped his guard and sprinted back into the living room only to find the father holding his handgun up, shaking and frozen in spot after discharging the weapon. Bellamy followed the line of fire and found his mother crumbled on the ground with a hysterical Octavia crouching next to her. He ran over to join his sister as they watched a dark red blossom of blood spread across Aurora's stomach. She’d died almost instantly; the bullet piercing organs and severing her main arteries. Her blood spilled out onto the floor and stained Bellamy’s hands as he frantically attempted to keep whatever blood remained inside of her and stopped only when a sobbing Octavia pulled his hands back, explaining there was nothing he could do.

The father shot Aurora because he thought she was the ghost, he'd explained. He didn't mean to shoot her; he was just scared, trying to protect his own family. In attempt to save one family, he’d completely destroyed another.

\----------

Two months had drug by. Two months of listening to Octavia’s quiet whimpers in the middle of the night, two months of trying to retain any sense of normalcy, two months of Bellamy trying to hold it together. They’d cremated their mother in a hunter’s pyre, though she didn’t die a hunter’s death. She deserved better, Bellamy thought. She was strong and fierce and deserved to go out in a heroic way, not shot by mistake by some trigger-happy soccer dad.

His jaw tensed as he remembered that night. The anger of his mother’s death made him want to lock the father in that haunted home and walk away, but he knew his mother would have wanted better. They’d successfully ejected the poltergeist and went on their way, their trio reduced to a duo.

Bellamy brought his gaze up and resurfaced from his angry memories. He saw the pained look on Kane’s face and realized they all felt heavy in the loss of Aurora. Kane became a close friend – if not the only friend – that their mother had ever had. He was a father figure for the Blake children, though he never had to be.

“We’re getting by,” Bellamy spoke into the solemn silence of the kitchen. “We’ll all be fine.”

Just then, the front door swung open with a creak and quick, uneven footsteps filled the hall. Then came a voice:

“Hey, Kane, Sinclair says the Mustang is a goner so we need you to call –“

Raven Reyes appeared in the doorframe of the kitchen and paused at the scene. She was beautiful – flowing brown hair and dark, sunkissed skin. She was about the same age as Octavia, though her youth was more apparent in her big, bright eyes and curious, mindful stares. Covered in grease and her hair thrown up in a haphazard ponytail, a wide smile appeared on her face as she saw Bellamy and Octavia.

“Bell! O!” she exclaimed, making her way over to the table where they sat. She pulled them both into a huge hug, drawing them close and squeezing them tight. “I didn’t know you were coming!” she added, throwing Kane an annoyed look.

When Kane bought the abandoned junkyard he’d use as a cover for his future hunting hub, he’d never imagine the IRS would come poking around, asking about Kane’s means and motives for running this type of business with no experience in business or engineering whatsoever. Kane never knew how to fix a car, let alone change a tire, so he hired fellow hunter and mechanic Sinclair to run the place. Raven lived in a motorhome just down the street, and came wondering in two years ago in hopes of finding a job. Her junkie, neglectful mother could barely afford to keep herself alive, let alone a daughter she’d only had to collect food stamps. Raven had little experience in engineering, but her spirit and determination was inspiring to Sinclair, who took her on as an apprentice. She learned quickly and soon became a natural mechanic who brought fire and life to the solemn junkyard.

Raven wore grease proudly; it was smeared all over her hands and caked under her nails, but she’d never wipe it off. It stained her clothes, which she wore proudly as a type of identifier of her trade. She knew she was a damn good mechanic for her age, if not the _best_ mechanic of her age in the tristate area.

“What brings you back to Sioux Falls?” she asked, sitting down and adjusting her leg brace.

“They just met Clarke Griffin,” Kane explained.

Raven’s eyes widened and darted between the two Blakes. “Oh, damn.”

Bellamy stared slack jawed at this situation. “Ok, seriously? How is it that everyone knew about her but us?” he spat.

Kane smiled into his mug, shaking his head slightly. “Aurora hated Clarke, everything she was about. She thought of her as a stain on the community and refused to acknowledge her as a problem; she simply chose to ignore her. That’s why she never told you – she saw Clarke as an insignificant pest who didn’t deserve to be gossiped about.”

“It’s not gossip, it’s information. Information we could have really used out there,” Bellamy fumed. He knew his mother went to lengths to shield him and Octavia from trouble, but withholding this information was simply a grudge rather than protection. He glared at Raven, who gave him a naïve look.

“Hey, don’t blame me for knowing! I overheard Sinclair talking,” she explained, throwing her hands up as a proof to her innocence.

Raven grew up blissfully unaware of the supernatural in the world. Once she began to work under Sinclair at the shop, Kane made it his mission to keep her shielded from anything that would put her in harm’s way, including keeping her in the dark about his true business and lifestyle. Sinclair rejected this, begging Kane to tell her the truth, arguing that the information could save her life if anything were to come trudging through the front gates of the junkyard. Kane, resentful for his wasted youth fighting creatures, insisted nothing ever could and remained steadfast in his decision up until one fateful night nearly a year ago.

Kane’s runes were in-depth and widespread over the property, creating a supernatural fence for himself, but he’d failed to think of creatures that would follow Raven and Sinclair home when they left the junkyard. A rogue shapeshifter stalked outside the gates of the property one night and attacked a defenseless Raven in her home, killing her doped-up mother and crushing her left leg to pieces. She was on the brink of death when Sinclair and Kane ran in after hearing the screams from down the street, killing the shapeshifter and rushing the unconscious Raven to the emergency room.

Her leg was shattered to pieces – it took countless surgeries and casts to try and put the bone fragments back to where they were. In the end, they were only slightly successful; Raven’s nerves had been destroyed in the attack and she had significant nerve damage from her knee down. She now wore a leg brace of her own design, which she always insisted never hurt and would never slow her down, but Bellamy caught the pained looks on her face when she thought no one was looking.

She was incredibly tough and refused to see herself as a victim, so she insisted that Kane and Sinclair teach her everything they knew about hunting so she could fight the next time something came for her. Raven moved in with Kane and worked at the shop full time, spending her nights with a book in her hand and her laptop out, cluttered with tabs of lore and mythology, aching to learn everything she could about this new world. Bellamy knew it hurt Kane to see Raven injected into this twisted lifestyle, but teaching Raven had brought him a newfound purpose.

The quiet in the room became deafening and tensions thickened as Bellamy fumed in his seat about being left in the dark about Clarke Griffin. Raven, Octavia, and Kane exchanged glances, unsure of how to proceed when the front door swung open once more as Sinclair walked into the kitchen, freezing just as Raven had when she saw Bellamy and Octavia.

“Oh, hello,” he’d said, shocked to see the siblings sitting at the kitchen table. “Didn’t know we were expecting you two.”

“I wasn’t,” Kane explained once more.

Silence returned as Sinclair assessed the tense situation and stood awkwardly in the doorframe. He was in his late thirties, with frizzy black and silver hair, and endlessly exhausted eyes, just like Kane. He too had grease stains all over his clothes from working on cars all day long. He then suddenly remembered what he was there for, as he held out the cell phone he had in his hand and pushed it towards Kane. “The douchebag owner of the Corvette’s on hold for you, insisted on speaking to the owner at the asscrack of dawn,” he explained apologetically.

Kane rolled his eyes as he took the cell and walked out the front door, no doubt annoyed to have the title of “owner” at that specific point in time.

“Uh, Raven, we should be getting back to the shop. A lot on our plate today,” Sinclair added, looking at his young protégé.

“Right,” she muttered, adjusting her leg and bracing the table as she stood up. She turned to look at the Blakes before she left. “Don’t disappear before I can say bye this time, okay?”

Octavia gave a weak smile and nodded her head. Raven returned the smile as she turned and followed Sinclair out the front door. Bellamy and Octavia remained, sitting in the tense product of their own problems. Bellamy sighed as he turned his head towards the ground and thought about the people in his life, and how he couldn’t bear to lose anyone else. It was a dangerous gamble to love, but life should be about more than just surviving.

With that thought in mind, Bellamy made the decision that they would slip out in the middle of the night once again, leaving behind the people he loved most in attempt to protect them the only way he knew how: he’d face danger and take the consequences by himself. He’d bear it so they didn’t have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *note: totally made this up. Not a real thing in Aurignacian culture!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! So sorry it took me forever to get to this next chapter. I've been so busy lately I've barely had time to even look at my fic :-( but I'm posting two chapters back to back (or, without twenty days between chapters)!
> 
> Happy reading!

“Seriously, Bell, if you keep talking about Clarke, I’m going to start to think you don’t hate her after all,” Octavia teased.

Bellamy glared at his sister as he pulled the rifle closer to his chest.

“I was just saying, _if_ she shows up tonight, I’m going to rip her a new one,” he grumbled.

The Blake siblings rounded the corner of the pier and held their weapons higher. The coast was clear so they relaxed, but kept their weapons at the ready. They’d been stalking a rogue werewolf in New Orleans for a few days now and the trail of bodies lead them to an industrial shipping pier on the bay. This was the third werewolf sighting in the city in a month, leading the Blakes to believe there was an Alpha wolf trying to start a pack somewhere in the Bayou. Though Bellamy grumbled about the plan, they’d decided to trap and capture the wolf instead going with Bellamy’s first instinct to kill first, ask questions later. He reluctantly agreed with Octavia that they needed to fix the problem at the source by locating the Alpha instead of killing newly turned werewolves, though it added an entirely new element of danger to their hunt. Already in a sour mood, the topic of Clarke Griffin certainly wasn’t helping ease the scowl he’d been holding for the entirety of the hunt. Bellamy looked over at his sister only to see a sly grin lighting up her face.

“What?” he shot, obviously annoyed.

Octavia’s grin widened. She looked at Bellamy with tease. “Hey, it’s just if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a weird little crush.”

Bellamy stopped in his tracks, tensing his jaw in reaction to that accusation. He kept his eyes off of his sister as he defended himself. “I do _not_ have a ‘weird little crush,’ O. I have nothing but disgust for Clarke Griffin.”

She gave a quick giggle and added, “I’m just saying, she’d be just your type, you know, if she wasn’t a thieving bitch.”

Bellamy was thankful for the dark cover of the night on the pier as he pulled his face away from Octavia to hide the pink flush that had crept up on his cheeks. Bellamy most definitely did _not_ have a crush on Clarke Griffin, though his constant talk about her could be interpreted that way.

He couldn’t help it, honestly. He brought up Clarke because she intrigued him. It was intrigue fueled by hatred, but the more he thought of her, the more some of that blind hatred turned into simple curiosity. Clarke’s skills were far beyond his own – she’d knocked him down so swiftly and easily that night with the Ōkami. Though his initial reactions were anger and frustration, as the weeks passed, his anger turned into curiosity of how she learned such skills. He found himself wondering the complex past of Clarke Griffin during long drives and late nights since their first meeting.

One thing that never transformed into intrigue was how distracted he was by her looks. Her rounded cheeks and pale complexion against her bright blue eyes and (admittedly, fake) berry red hair was enough for him to keep stealing looks in her direction that night, but it was the tight dress that sent him over the edge. She was distracting – though that was just what she wanted, he thought – and that caused him to be oblivious to her ruse. But what angered him more was that Octavia was aware of this fact. She knew that Clarke had an effect on Bellamy, and that annoyed him most of all. He didn’t want to be seen as weak or anything less than focused, especially not by his little sister.

Bellamy, lost in his thoughts while searching behind industrial sized storage containers at the pier, whipped his head up when he heard his sister let out a sharp, quick whistle. Octavia was standing at the corner of a shipping container a few yards over. Catching her brother’s gaze, she held her blade up and nodded her head in the direction of a low, quiet rustling coming from between two containers about 50 yards away. Bellamy matched Octavia’s armed position as they slowly made their way towards the noise.

As they stalked around the corner, careful to keep hidden from sight, they saw a figure crouched over a body on the ground, covered in blood. Sickening noises were coming from the encounter, and Bellamy’s stomach swirled knowing exactly what was happening: the werewolf was eating his kill. The bloodied man was digging through the open cavity on the body’s chest, ravenous to consume everything inside.

The Blakes hadn’t come into this situation unprepared; in fact, they’d hope to catch the wolf while it was distracted. Bellamy nodded quickly to his sister as he fully rounded the corner, exposing himself. He cocked his gun and hovered his finger over the trigger.

“Hey! Over here!” he shouted.

The werewolf whipped his head around to reveal a snarled mouth, bloodied and filled with razor sharp teeth. The creature scrambled to get up from his kill, scraping his brown claws against the rough gravel. The supernatural have a habit of being quick sons of bitches, and before Bellamy’s finger could fully wrap itself around the trigger, the werewolf was running full sprint towards him, quickly closing the seemingly safe distance between them. Just as Bellamy saw the opportunity to go in for a kill shot, ruining the plan but ultimately saving his life, Octavia came crashing down from the top of a storage container, letting out a battle cry as she swung an iron rod down with enough force to knock the werewolf unconscious.

The werewolf crumbled to the ground, harmless and still. Though Bellamy knew it was out cold, he still approached the creature with hesitance. It was smaller than usual, even with the modified claws, teeth, and newly acquired supernatural strength. Bellamy wondered why an Alpha would turn such a small man when the realization struck him with a tightening in his chest. They was too far away to tell before, but now that he lay unconscious at their feet, Bellamy saw the harsh truth: this wasn’t a man after all, but a boy.

“Alright, let’s tie him up before he comes to,” Bellamy stated, shoving the rifle behind his back and adjusting its strap across his chest.

Octavia, having come to this same realization about the age of the new werewolf, stared at the creature with shock before helping her brother drag the body away from the pier.

The two drug the bloodied creature into a nearby warehouse on the pier, Octavia silent the entire trip. The trip wasn’t hard, the boy wasn’t nearly as heavy as they were expecting as they put him in a chair they’d set up before the hunt. Knowing they were going to interrogate the wolf, they’d set up precautions and restraints in this warehouse, empty and still under the cover of night.

Bellamy went to work tying the wrists of the werewolf onto the metal chair arms, tugging tight and reinforcing his knots. Octavia slowly tied his ankles to the chair legs, wrapping the rope carefully and gently around the small ankles of the boy. Bellamy sighed knowing the age of the creature bugged her, but her humanity couldn’t get in the way now. They needed to find it’s Alpha.

After a few minutes, the creature stirred. Though when it woke, it wasn’t the creature at all; it was the boy. During the time it was unconscious, his razor sharp teeth had retracted and the claws that had ripped open a chest turned back into the small, nimble fingertips of a human. Looking up, he found Bellamy and Octavia’s eyes trained on him, weapons in hand and standing a safe distance away.

“What –“ the boy started, looking down at his restraints and pulling on them to release himself. “What’s going on? Where am I?”

The boy was frantic, looking around at the empty warehouse and the armed adults in front of him. He stuttered and grunted as he tested the restraints over and over, trying to free himself from this confusing situation. Then, he did the one thing Bellamy Blake was not expecting out of a homicidal werewolf: he started to cry.

A small gasp escaped Octavia’s mouth as she lowered her blade and stared shock-mouthed at the crying boy.

“He’s just a kid, Bell,” Octavia whispered, eyes fixed on the frantic boy.

“Yeah, a kid that’s killed three people in this town,” Bellamy explained in monotone, eyes fixed on the ropes that held the werewolf down.

“What?! What are you talking about? My name is Alex Martin … I live on River Street … I – I was just going to the skate park, I – I didn’t kill anyone!” the boy shouted at Bellamy, tears rolling down his blood stained face, creating clean lines in the red that stretched from his nose down to his neck. He looked less like a monster and more like a human, though his rounded, young cheeks were covered in blood from the acts of the monster that lurked inside him. There was weakness and innocence in the tears that ran down his face that contrasted so deeply with the creature that had him elbow deep into the chest of an innocent person only a few minutes ago.

Octavia sheathed her knife on her thigh and grabbed Bellamy by the arm, pulling him around the corner and out of earshot of the sobbing boy.

“I don’t think he knows what’s going on,” she whispered, eyes searching for any weakness in Bellamy’s. “He has no idea what he did or what he is.”

Bellamy considered his sister’s pleas with a furrowed brow and sighed. “What are you saying? That we should let him go? He’ll just kill again.”

“What if –“ Octavia huffed, pacing in front of her brother, mind whirring. She ran her fingers through her hair and bit her bottom lip thoughtfully. “What if we don’t have to kill him? I know you’ve heard the stories too – legend has it if you kill the werewolf who turned him, he’ll be cured. I mean we already have him tied up to question him about his Alpha – what _if_ –“

Octavia stopped when she saw Bellamy’s eyes roll lazily in his head, no doubt annoyed with this idea.

“I’m being serious,” she added, pleading into the humanity of Bellamy.

“You said it yourself. It’s a _legend_ , O. It’s never been tested, never proven – hell, it could make him stronger for all we know. I know we’re after the Alpha but we are not going to start some aimless hunt to save this thing - ” Bellamy quietly explained over the boy’s continued sobs.

“Thing? He’s just a boy! Look at him, he can’t be more than twelve years old!” Octavia interrupted.

“ - based on a theory that we don’t even know will work!” Bellamy finished, anger seeping into his tone as he fought with his little sister.

“What if it were me, Bell? Huh? Would you be willing to test the _myth_ then?” she pleaded, desperately looking for any softness in Bellamy’s eyes.

“That isn’t you,” he replied.

Bellamy stared into his sister’s gaze and considered her suggestion. He could see the muscles tense in Octavia’s jaw as she swallowed unsaid words and angry thoughts. She pulled her eyes away from Bellamy’s and stared at her scuffed boots, standing in the silence that stretched between the two siblings.

Bellamy looked at his sister’s passion for the boy and sighed. Aurora raised Octavia to be strong – to kill without emotion and to remove feelings from the job, but even she couldn’t tame the flame of Octavia’s strong heart. Octavia was powerfully vulnerable, connecting herself to the families of the victims and finding beauty in each new town they visited, no matter the evil lurking in the shadows. No matter where her heart lied, she did the job. She was lethal with a blade and swifter than he could ever be, but each case effected Octavia more than Bellamy. The life consumed her, but she was loyal, faithful to their missions, and never faltered to do what all hunters must do.

The emotions of Octavia haunted Bellamy; her genuine smiles towards others and dreamy expressions with each new stranger were echoes of what Octavia’s life could have been if they’d lived normal lives. He mourned the life she could have had, attending football games and house parties like every other seventeen-year old in the country. Her eyes should be full of youth, but instead they were tired and bleak from the constant mortal danger they found themselves in.

Bellamy saw a Blake that wasn’t a monster like the one he saw in himself. She was luminous and still held on the hope that Bellamy had abandoned long ago. Bellamy felt a sudden, new urge to preserve that dim little light she still had, even if it meant going against his better judgment for a hunt.

He opened his mouth to comply with his sister’s pleas and form a new plan when he fully realized the silence they were standing in.

Silence that was free of the boy’s quiet sobs.

Bellamy darted around the corner to where they were keeping the boy only to find an empty chair surrounded by frayed and broken rope. The rubbed metal of the chair shone with a small sliver of silver moonlight that crept in from the corner of the warehouse window, illuminating the chair and ultimately turning the boy back into the werewolf once more.

“Shit!” Bellamy exclaimed, pulling his hand behind his back to retrieve his gun slung across his shoulder. He turned back to his curious sister only to see yellow eyes peering over Octavia’s shoulder.

“Behind you!” he yelled, cocking his gun and raising it into position on his shoulder.

Octavia snapped into action, reaching for the blade strapped to her thigh, but her reaction time was nothing compared to a newly turned werewolf. Within seconds, the claws of the wolf were wrapped around Octavia’s calves as he pulled her legs out from underneath her. She fell down onto the concrete with a sickening thud and let out a pained scream; the claws of the wolf had ripped deep gashes into her legs, dark red blood growing and staining the fabric of her jeans.

With Octavia down, the creature lunged for Bellamy next, snarling and hungry. Bellamy pulled his rifle up to rest against his cheek, ready to fire a silver bullet into the werewolf’s heart. Bellamy pulled the trigger only to meet resistance. Frantically, he released and pulled once more, finding that same resistance in the trigger. The creature was nearing and Bellamy’s gun was jammed.

Bellamy wrapped both fists around the barrel of the gun as he pulled the strap from over his head and swung the rifle as a club. It hit the wolf in the face and it recoiled, only to quickly recover and push his claws out to meet Bellamy’s chest.

Bellamy flew backwards a few feet and let out a pained groan as he landed on a pile of wooden pallets. Pain shot through his back but he quickly pulled his attention towards Octavia, still writhing on the ground. Anger overcame Bellamy as he tightened his grip on the gun once more and swung again at the approaching wolf, only this time the werewolf’s supernatural reflexes grabbed the gun before it collided with its face. The creature ripped the gun out of his hands and threw it across the room, skidding and clanging against the rough floors.

Defenseless and vulnerable on his back, Bellamy desperately lunged for the creature, only to be pushed back down by the strength of the werewolf. He watched the teeth of the snarling werewolf as they hovered above his face, seeing the mutated boy underneath and wishing he could have stopped this somehow. Bellamy used every bit of force he had to push the creature’s face away from his own, but the odds were not in his favor.

 _This is it_ , he thought. _This is how I die._

Only inches remained between Bellamy’s neck and the razor sharp teeth of the werewolf when a gunshot rang through the air. The wolf howled and recoiled backwards off of Bellamy, grasping at the blood red blossom that had gone through its ribcage and pierced its heart. Gasping and whimpering, the werewolf boy collapsed onto the ground and remained perfectly still. Bellamy pushed himself off of the pallets and looked towards Octavia, expecting to see his rifle in her hands after she had shot the werewolf. But Octavia still held her hands over her bleeding wounds and stared slack jawed at the dead creature.

Following the origin of the shot, Bellamy’s eyes darted towards the doorway of the warehouse to see Clarke Griffin standing with her back against the misty yellow light, smoking gun still raised after she’d shot the bullet that had saved his life.


	5. Chapter 5

Clarke Griffin had a habit of being in the right place at the right time. She could chalk it up to research, preparedness, or keen instincts, but all in all it was simply luck.

Some sadistic buyer of Murphy’s wanted werewolf fangs, so lo and behold, when the terror of the supernatural creatures came raining down on the New Orleans bayou, Clarke packed up and followed the echoed screams of the night. There are plenty of hauntings and vampire stalkings around the United States every day, so most of the time, Clarke assumed she wouldn’t run into any vigilante hunters. It was only after she followed the yellow police tape that surrounded the second victim that she realized she wasn’t the only one investigating.

She’d seen Bellamy Blake, fake FBI badge strapped to a cheap suit, talking to the detective over the red-stained white sheet that lay on the parking lot pavement. She’d been on her way to do the exact thing he was – figure out the order and patterns of the kill, fake badge in hand. In that moment, standing around the block of the crime scene, she put the badge back into her pocket as she decided to take a backseat on this investigation; following Bellamy and Octavia as they did all of the dirty work was too easy of a choice.

She’d kept a distant watch over the siblings as they stalked in an out of their seedy New Orleans motel night after night, searching and failing to find the werewolves that terrorized in the dark. Sighing, she realized that maybe it was time to just cut the ties and do this herself. Only that very night, she watched as Bellamy and Octavia hopped into Bellamy’s classic car and drove towards the shipping pier, and she realized they might have finally tracked one down.

Clarke followed with a safe distance to the Blakes, rounding corners of the pier with her gun in her hand. She’d searched every alleyway of that pier before stumbling upon an abandoned body between shipping containers, chest splayed open with its life spread across the gravel around it. She raised a hand to her nose; she’d been too late to save this poor man, but this ultimately meant she was close to the werewolf. She looked towards the ground and saw divots in the gravel that lead away from the crime scene and towards a bundle of warehouses that sat on the pier’s edge. Following the trail, she smirked confidently knowing that she’d run into the Blakes with the wolf conveniently trapped and ready for her. Oh yes, the Blakes would throw a fit, and she honestly couldn’t wait to see the shocked look on Bellamy’s face once more.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Bellamy Blake, screaming “Shit!” into the still night of the shipping pier. The low voice traveled and bounced between the metal of the containers that stacked in neat rows and Clarke’s smirk fell immediately. Cocking her gun, she ran towards the warehouses, weaving in and out of the rows and frantically looking in windows and doorways of the many buildings along the shoreline. The body on the pier made three kills so far, and her stomach turned imagining Bellamy and Octavia’s bodies being a part of that list. They may be idealistic, naïve hunters, but they didn’t deserve to die at the hands of a homicidal werewolf.

Clarke heard a loud crash come from the warehouse on her left, and she pulled herself together as she approached the doorway. The situation unfolded in front of her; Octavia held both hands on her calves, wincing and writhing in the pain as blood seeped between her fingers, but Bellamy was face to face with a small werewolf, who had him pinned down, defenseless and losing their battle of strength. It all happened within seconds, but Clarke pulled her gun up and focused on the close proximity of the wolf and Bellamy Blake. She knew she was an excellent shot, but the stakes seemed higher now that he could be in the crossfires. Taking a deep breath in, she pulled the trigger and the echo of the silver bullet pierced through the air before it found its destination through the side of the wolf’s ribcage.

The creature recoiled immediately, placing clawed hands on its sides where the bullet had ripped through its heart. Looking frantically at Clarke, the creature fell onto its knees before succumbing to the bullet, landing on the ground of the warehouse with a soft thud. Clarke stared at the dead wolf, taking in its size and stature before coming to a sickening realization of its youth. A werewolf kid, whom she’d killed. He was probably just a scared boy, confused and oblivious to the new monster he’d become, and she’d killed him. Her stomach turned at the thought of his innocence underneath the cloak of the werewolf; Clarke Griffin knew a thing or two about trading in the innocence of youth and becoming a monster.

When Clarke surfaced from her thoughts, she found Bellamy and Octavia’s frantic eyes fixed on her, slack jawed and completely confused by her presence at the pier. Pulling the sadness from her eyes, she gave a fake smile as she put on her confident façade and holstered her gun.

“Miss me?” she quipped sarcastically.

Bellamy Blake had pulled himself up from the pile of wooden pallets he’d been pinned on and was staring daggers into Clarke’s figure in the doorway. He opened his mouth to say something before realizing his injured sister still lay on the warehouse floor. He rushed to her side, but the pain seemed to be a secondary focus to Octavia, who was still staring at the sudden appearance of Clarke Griffin in the middle of their hunt once again.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked angrily, assessing the damage of Octavia’s gashes and tearing strips of his shirt to form makeshift bandages. Octavia followed suit, taking off her sweater and ripping the fabric along the seams.

“Usually when someone saves your life, you thank them,” Clarke replied, hands on her hips. “If you’re still salty about the last time we met, it was just business. Nothing personal.”

“I should kick your ass right now,” Bellamy grumbled, gently wrapping the fabric around his sister’s wounds as she hissed and winced in response.

Clarke walked over to the dead werewolf and turned him over gently, exposing his young face that still possessed the mature features of the monster. She was thankful that Bellamy was distracted; she didn’t want him to see how much the age of this werewolf affected her. She ran her thumb along his cheekbone as she pulled herself together as she lifted his upper lip, exposing his fangs. Pulling the knife out of her jacket pocket, she carefully cut the two canines of the wolf’s teeth out, being careful not to cut a line more than she should. She’d already hurt him so much, she figured it was perhaps even a good thing that she was taking some of the monster out of him. He should have peace, even after he was gone. His mother didn’t deserve to see her young son like this in the morgue.

“Hey!” Bellamy shouted, turning from his medical handiwork towards Clarke crouching over the wolf’s body. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He shot up and stormed over towards Clarke who shoved the teeth into her pocket and backed away from the body, keeping a distance between the two.

“Are you fucking serious? He’s just a kid!” he shouted. He’d obviously noticed Clarke shoving the teeth into her pocket, and her cheeks burned in response to his anger.

“He was going to kill you. I’d say I did you a favor, one for which you are _very_ ungrateful for, by the way,” she responded.

Bellamy’s anger was evident as he stared at Clarke, fists clenched.

“I could have handled myself, princess,” he grumbled, hooded eyes burning holes into her skin.

Clarke’s face fell as she recoiled from that comment. She had been called many things in her life – most recently – bitch, thief, even that awful Wanheda title. Clarke’s new life was in her control; she didn’t care if she was any of those things because she was in control of how she got them. She’d worked so hard to distance herself from what she was born into, what she had no say over: spoiled, privileged, princess.

“Don’t call me that,” she said lowly, any trace of her teasing disposition gone with her newfound annoyance.

A moment in time passed as Bellamy assessed the new change in electricity between them. Noticing the effect the nickname had on her, he twisted his upper lip as he responded, “Sure thing, _princess_.”

She stared at Bellamy Blake with a mix of shock and intrigue. His confidence was steadfast despite being inches away from death only a few minutes ago. He held his shoulders back, firm and solid in front of his injured sister. Though she should have felt intimidation, she only felt curiosity. Clarke noticed the rag in his breath as he clenched his strong jaw over and over again, no doubt annoyed with her presence in their current situation. It wasn’t completely obvious against his tanned skin, but Clarke saw a pink flush that stretched underneath the galaxies of freckles that dusted his cheeks and nose. His brave demeanor was convincing, but not convincing enough for Clarke to believe that there wasn’t anything more than anger in his stare. Was he as curious about her as she was about him?

Clarke opened her mouth, desperate to change the topic, when she noticed the exposed tattoo on Octavia’s shoulder. It was a sun, with solid black rays that curved away from the five-pointed pentagram in the center. She’d recognized the design immediately – she saw it every day in the mirror, tattooed on her ribs.

“Nice tat,” Clarke quipped, nodding in Octavia’s direction. Octavia glanced down at her shoulder, taking in the remark. She then looked at Clarke with suspicion, no doubt wondering why she’d chosen to point out the tattoo in such a time.

Clarke looked at Bellamy, who also shared his sister’s suspicion and intrigue. She smiled, cocking her head slightly to the right. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

The tattoo was common among hunters. It was an ancient symbol that inhibited demon possession. Most hunters carried or wore a charm with them everywhere they went, but a select few thought the temporary, vulnerable protection of a charm wasn’t enough and decided to make a permanent decision. The tattoos were easy enough to hide, but they were an enduring reminder of the life hunters lived. It wasn’t enough for some people to be able to take the charms off at the end of the day, to lie down and forget about the life they’d found themselves in, but to have the ink etched on your skin every day, a scar and identifier towards the dangerous and dark life they lived.

Clarke had guessed that Octavia’s tattoo was a good enough indicator that her brother shared the same one, and her suspicions proved correct when Bellamy took one hand and pulled his jacket free from his shoulder. He was hesitant to comply at first, but Clarke’s curious stare proved too much as he fell victim to her suggestion. Letting out a sigh, he pulled his shirt collar down to expose the top of his own anti-possession tattoo, black and solid below his left collarbone. Clarke’s eyes followed Bellamy’s hand for the most part, but the exposure of his chest caught a hitch in her stare. The freckles from his cheeks were also present along his collarbones; delicate, small marks that stood out on top of his tanned skin.

Though her distraction only lasted a second, she was pulled from her stares when Bellamy’s hand quickly released his collar and returned to his side. Clarke looked up from his chest to meet his eyes, narrowed and curious. He’d raised one eyebrow, and without any words, signaled it was her turn.

Clarke swiftly stripped her jacket from her shoulders and let it drop to the ground with a gentle thud. Keeping eye contact steadfast the entire time, she gathered up the fabric of her shirt and pulled up, revealing the large tattoo inked on her left ribcage. Bellamy’s eyes traveled down to her waist, mouth gaping open slightly upon seeing her exposed, fair skin. He cleared his throat and crossed his arms to regain the little composure he let slip, but Clarke already had a sly smile on her face. Even as herself, she distracted Bellamy Blake, and that was all the confidence that she needed in this situation.

Bellamy swallowed and shifted on his feet. “Looks like I’m going to have to find another reason as to why you’re such a bitch.”

The accusation stung Clarke as she absorbed it and responded with distain. “If I were a demon, I wouldn’t have saved your ungrateful ass.”

“Like I said, _princess_ , you didn’t need to save me,” Bellamy grumbled as he walked towards his sister. “How did you even find us again?”

“The things you don’t know could fill a book,” she scoffed. “But look, I’ve got a sale to get to, so if you two can handle yourselves now, I’ve got to get going.”

Bellamy and Octavia had their eyebrows furrowed and mouths in a tight line as they stared at Clarke, dripping in distain. Bellamy pulled his sister up and she whimpered slightly, but pushed it back quickly. Those gashes were deep and she was more worried about putting on a strong face in front of Clarke than show the pain she was in. Clarke admired her strength, but feared for the intimidation in Octavia’s eyes. If she weren’t injured, she surely would have knocked Clarke down on her ass as soon as she’d arrived.

“If you find yourself getting murdered by a werewolf again, give me a call. I’d be happy to take it off of your hands,” Clarke said, picking her jacket up off the ground. “Maybe make a few thousand off of it.”

“This _won’t_ happen again,” Octavia muttered, deadly gaze still fixed on Clarke.

Clarke raised her eyebrows in disbelief as she pulled a card out of her pocket and tossed it between them. It fluttered and swayed, but eventually fell to the ground next to the dead werewolf, the white paper absorbing the red that surrounded it.

Bellamy and Octavia recoiled in her confident façade, oblivious to the fact that the blood soaked business card left stinging in Clarke’s eyes. She hated seeing the wasted youth of the boy, condemned to a hellish fate. She mourned for the years he’d never see, but she couldn’t let this grief show. Weakness was death, and if that meant she had to be a bitch, so be it. She’d sacrifice her image for her life, any day, any place.

Clarke backed up, walking swiftly towards the door as Bellamy grabbed his rifle and started to follow. She wasn’t quite sure if he meant to shoot her, but his quick steps behind hers was enough to make her pick up the pace. She turned and swiftly moved out onto the pier, losing the eldest Blake in the darkness of the mist that hung in the night. Maneuvering between containers and around the edge of the water, Clarke’s confident mask fell from her face. Her brows furrowed and blood rushed to her cheeks as the stinging returned to her eyes, followed by the few stray tears that found their way to escape. The Blakes would never be allowed to see this side of her; only the night could witness her vulnerabilities. The darkness of the night had seen Clarke break down all too many times, soothing her with its still and gentle embrace as the quiet of the moon hung overhead.

Clarke found her way to her parked car and stopped before opening the door. She looked up into the sky to see the constellations of stars up above and couldn’t help but think of the freckles that dusted Bellamy’s cheeks and collarbones. They were like their own constellations in themselves; galaxies and swirls of matter composed within small, dark dots. Clarke shook her head as she slipped into the driver’s seat and thought that Bellamy Blake was as complex and mysterious as the stars above; she knew she’d never get close enough to figure out all of their secrets but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t constantly wonder what they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this seems super OOC for Clarke, being so bitchy and crude, but her past will come out soon. She's like this for a reason... this mask will fall and we'll see the secrets behind Clarke that made her so cold.


	6. Chapter 6

The static and click of the television filled the dingy motel room, fizzing and cutting out with each change of the channel. Octavia laid on the springy bed, head rolled to one side as she stared empty-eyed at the blue light. She angrily pushed the buttons of the remote control, compressing anger and frustration with each push of the channel button. With one hand still raised for the remote, the other found its way down to her bandaged leg. She cautiously rubbed on top of the bandage that wrapped around her left calf and winced out of relief and pain of itching her healing wounds.

It had been three days since the werewolf’s claws ripped deep gashes into her legs. After their fateful meeting with Clarke, Bellamy had rushed his sister back to the New Orleans motel room to patch her up. It was nearly dawn by the time Bellamy had stitched his sister’s wounds, and the early morning sun spilled in on the blood-stained linens that littered the motel room floor. Exhausted and covered in blood, sweat, and grime from the warehouse, he breathed a sigh of relief as he watched Octavia sleep peacefully under the influence of heavy pain meds; he even let out a soft chuckle knowing she’d admire the gnarly scars the stitches would leave.

Now they were in Denver, far away from the shock and ramifications of the cleaning staff finding their blood-soaked motel room the next morning. He’d packed up everything in record time and carried his sister out into the car just as the morning commuters were hitting the road, thankful to blend in with the buzz of rush hour.

It was three long days of hearing Octavia’s obvious sighs and silent grumbles when he left her alone in the room to get food and supplies. He knew she was bored out of her mind cooped up in this room, but it was for her own good. Her wounds needed to heal, and Bellamy had to make sure that there could be no future problems because she was up on her feet too soon.

Here she lay, looking out the windows into the quiet snow that fell from the Colorado skies and sighed deeply. Her expression was weak and bleak, no doubt annoyed with her current state of being. Her stare lingered on the landscapes outside; she loved the mountains. It was cruel for her to see the beauty and have to stay away from frolicking in the snow and shredding down a mountain on a snowboard.

Bellamy looked over at his sister laying on top of the covers of the bed and raised an eyebrow. He laid his battered copy of _The Iliad_ down on his lap as he marked the page he left off on and answered the unspoken question that was laced in Octavia’s prolonged sighs.

“I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is no,” he said.

Her head flopped from its position overlooking the mountains to face him, a grim look on her face. It was a mixture between sadness and anger, and Bellamy knew it all too well. She was defiant and cunning, but she knew the fierceness of Bellamy’s protective spirit. He did all things out to protect her. His sister, his responsibility.

“Not even just to walk to that diner down the road?” Octavia pleaded. “When I got up an hour ago, it didn’t hurt at all. I promise.”

“We aren’t on a job right now so it’s best if you just enjoy this time to relax. You need it,” he responded, fighting his sister’s sad looks.

Octavia shot up with the mention of _enjoying_ such relaxation and stared daggers into her brother. “Enjoy? Bell, this is torture! I have to get out of this damned motel room. I swear I’m going insane.”

Bellamy opened his mouth to respond when his phone rang. Both Blakes’ eyes shot towards the cell phone sitting on the nightstand between the two beds. Octavia’s reaction time proved faster than Bellamy’s as she snatched the phone up and answered, despite Bellamy’s grasping.

“Hello?” she answered, all too eager to hear another human being.

After a beat, her excited expression fell as she flopped down on the bed, bored look on her face.

“Oh, hey Miller,” she responded.

Bellamy stood up and grasped towards the phone once more, only to have Octavia swat him away.

“Yeah, we’re close by. Denver,” she spoke into the phone. “Please tell me you have something to save me from Nurse Bellamy.”

Bellamy’s mouth formed into a tight line as he grasped his sister’s arm and pulled the phone away from her ear, taking it out of her defiant hand. He shot his sister a look as she squinted her eyes at him, no doubt annoyed by his protective umbrella he’d placed on her.

“Hey, Miller. What’s up?” he said, pacing to the window, away from Octavia’s flailing arms.

“Bellamy, hey. What’s going on with Octavia?” Miller said.

“A wolf clawed the shit out of her legs. Though she doesn’t quite understand, I’ve insisted she’s on bed rest, _for her own good_ ,” he said, looking back to his sister with emphasis on his reasoning. She simply sighed again and rolled her eyes.

“Well, shit. I had a job for you guys,” Miller responded, disappointment traveling through the phone.

“What is it?” Bellamy asked.

“I’ve read some reports unusual deaths in Cheyenne. Looks like a solo vampire set up a hunting ground near a dive bar just outside of town,” Miller explained, voice low and gruff. “I’d look into it myself but I’ve just caught scent of a huge vampire nest in Omaha. I’ve been onto these bastards for weeks.”

Bellamy sunk into his mental map of the area and considered the decision. He could make it to Cheyenne, Wyoming in about an hour and a half, kill the thing, and be back before midnight.

“Anyone else in the area?” Bellamy asked.

“You’re the fourth hunter I’ve tried. They’re all too busy or too far away to get there before the next fatality,” Miller responded.

Bellamy sighed. He didn’t want to leave his wounded sister for that long, but his instinctual obligation to kill this creature before it can kill again triumphed.

He walked over towards his jacket and picked it up, holding the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he slid the leather over his arms. “Text me the address of the bar. I’ve got it.”

“I’m going too!” Octavia protested, springing up from her bed and placing both feet on the ground. She stood up and took a step, attempting to hide the wince that came to her face. Her enthusiasm proved too much for her delicate legs.

Bellamy placed the phone on the bed and rushed over to his sister, helping her sit down again. “No, Octavia. I can do this alone. No big deal,” he assured. Letting out a low chuckle, he added, “Besides, I’ve killed dozens of vamps on my own.”

She grumbled and pulled at her bandages, assessing where blood had just seeped through. Bellamy pulled the phone off the bed and put it back up to his ear.

“I’m going for it on my own, Miller. Thanks for the heads up,” he said into the cell before ending the call. He grabbed his keys and shoved the phone into his pocket, but before he could walk out the door, he gave a sorry look towards Octavia. She may not realize it now, but it’s all for her own good.

\----------

The drive wasn’t bad; the snow was annoying but manageable and his Impala took the slick roads like a dream. He pulled up to the dive bar Miller had told him about; it was no doubt sketchy, nearly asking to have a rogue creature stalking its visitors come nightfall. The sun was setting and Bellamy slid out of the car, cursing and pulling the collar of his jacket up against the chill wind that swept up from underneath him.

The bell above the bar door jingled as Bellamy entered, commanding the eyes of every customer in the bar. It truly lived up to its title of a dive –  the dim lighting looked as if there was no lighting at all, the wood of the bar top was worn and splintering, the carpet stains were dark, plentiful, and mysterious, and the people looked just as rough as the place itself. The pool-players in the corner and the visitors at the bar’s eyes lingered on him for a moment before returning to their conversations and their game, obviously not impressed by Bellamy’s arrival.

He figured the vampire wouldn’t strike until complete darkness later that night, so he had a little time to waste. Usually he wouldn’t be interested in wasting time, but he found himself in a rare situation: he was alone, without Octavia. He worried for his sister always, but every day of his life was filled with his worries about his sister. Worry about her life, her health, her mental sanity. It dominated his thoughts and though he wished she were here, he was relieved she wasn’t. She needed rest, and he needed to finish the job. It was how things had to be, but it excited him. He couldn’t remember the last time he was alone, at a bar, without his sister.

There were days before Octavia’s growth spurt that Bellamy would wander into bars by himself, destressing with drinks and occasionally, with the company of another. However, Octavia’s strengthening jawline and impressive bone structure prompted her insistence of obtaining a new fake ID – one that was 21 years old. It wasn’t hard to believe she was four years older than she really was, but this now meant she followed him into the one place he could once go alone.

He slid into a creaky chair and placed his elbows on the bar top, almost giddy with the idea of enjoying a drink alone. The bartender approached from the other side of the bar. She was beautiful, with endless curls that were just as untamed as his own. She had hooded eyes and seductive lips that curved into a smirk as she leaned forward onto the bar in front of him.

“What can I get you?” she smiled.

Bellamy mirrored her smile and looked down at his hands. “Whisky, neat.”

Her smug look searched his face and she leaned back, grabbing the bottle of whisky from under the counter. “Rye okay?”

“Yeah, rye’s great,” he responded, reaching behind him to grab his wallet.

She waved a lazy hand in front of her as the amber liquid filled the glass. “No need, really,” she explained. “Rare that someone like you comes in here, anyways.”

With that, she nodded her head down the bar to where an old, gray man slept face down on the worn wood of the counter, beer still in his hand.

Bellamy let out a low, short laugh and the bartender smiled even wider. Extending her hand, she introduced herself.

“I’m Gina.”

He looked at her nimble hand and replied with an enamored “Bellamy.”

Bellamy and Gina talked for what felt like an eon compressed into the constraints of an hour. She joked about his interesting choices in bars, and he joked about her interesting choices in bars to bartend at. Their chat was filled with laughs and lingering looks, and Bellamy reminded himself to thank Miller for this job. She was beautiful; Bellamy was nearly afraid to blink because he didn’t want to miss the small tug of her smile that she seemed to slip in the moments between seconds.

Though he nursed his drink like he would never feel the burn of whisky again, the echo of his empty glass onto the bar top prompted Gina’s attention.

“Another?” she asked, leaning down to grab the whisky bottle once more.

Bellamy wanted nothing more than to give into this second drink, but a quick look behind him told him it was time to get to work. The sun had set, the vampire would be on the rise soon. Turning back to Gina, he gave a sad sigh.

“I would love one, but there’s something I need to do first,” he explained, pulling his jacket back on. “Be back here within the hour.”

She grabbed the empty glass off the counter and smiled. “It’ll be waiting for you when you get back.”

With one last enticing look, Bellamy turned away from the bartender and pushed the door into the cold Wyoming air. The crumbling, neglected suburban street was empty other than the Impala, and Bellamy’s hair stood up on edge. Vampires were fast – agile, strong, deadly – but they’d be no match for the strength of a machete’s swing. One swift strike of the machete’s blade onto the neck of the vampire was enough to end the bloodlust for good.

Walking over to back of his Impala, Bellamy checked his surroundings once again. Once they were confirmed clear, he opened the trunk, then the latch hidden in the black interior. Leaning over to grab his favorite blade – one that Octavia always called “too bulky” and “unbalanced” – he heard a clanging come from the alleyway between the bar and the neighboring building. He stepped forward with the blade and faced the origin of the noise. He was on high alert, ready to fight – but saw nothing.

Lingering and searching for a second more, Bellamy turned back to his car only to be confronted with something completely unexpected. No amount of preparation, instinct, or reaction time could have stopped this. A figure with an outstretched arm stood in the confined space between Bellamy and his car, and before a shocked expression could even find its way to his face, there was nothing but darkness.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're ....... not going to talk about how long it's been since I've updated. Just not going to even go there. To those who have stuck around, I have not forgotten. Let's hope that writers block stays FAR away from me.
> 
> Here, we delve into Clarke's beginnings. Enjoy!

ARKADIA, VIRGINIA – 9 YEARS AGO

 

Clarke's eager hands reached for shades of blues as she struggled to capture the sun's shine on Wells' polo in the portrait. The baby blues of the fine fabric reflected the sun, and Clarke scrunched her eyebrows upon realizing she didn't quite have the exact shades to portray this exact moment in time. She hesitated upon picking up the pale yellow to layer on top of the sky blue, hovering her hand in contemplation over the multitude of colored pencil nubs in her pencil box. Shooting a look at her subject, she rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"Stop moving! You're messing up my picture!" she instructed at the impatient boy.

Wells sighed and sat perfectly still in the sun's light, though the heat from the rays were beginning to become uncomfortable in the stuffy tree house. She knew he was eager to leave, but he'd also insisted on drawing him in his best suit, and Clarke did _not_ take picture requests lightly. She was an artist-to-be, after all.

Clarke's eyes darted from her best friend to her sketchbook, attempting to finish off the serious demeanor that Wells insisted on posing for. _This is how my dad poses in his pictures_ , Wells explained. She didn't say so, but she much preferred his toothy grin, even if he was missing one of his two front teeth.

They'd been best friends for all nine years of their existence in the small world they lived in. Wells said it was luck they were the same age and _also_ next-door neighbors, but Clarke had always insisted it was fate. They were simply meant to be best friends, she'd explained one night. People are put in our lives for a reason, and Clarke held tightly onto that belief.

Not one day went by, as far as Clarke could remember, that she didn't see Wells. After countless years spent sprinting across the acres of land that separated their expansive yards in the Arkadia suburbs, Mr. Jaha and Clarke's parents broke down and let them build a tree house right in the middle of the two estates. They'd built the modest interior themselves and cherished each collected item inside -- a blue ribbon from Wells' track meet, their shared piggy bank for a trip to Hawaii some day, and Clarke's countless sketches that were plastered on every wall.

Wells let out a big sigh in impatience and Clarke shot him a glare.

"Clarke, I gotta go! How much longer will this take?" he asked, fidgeting with his pants leg. He was wearing his favorite shirt and pants in anticipation for this day he'd been counting down on his calendar for so long. Mr. Jaha was gone for so many things, and when he'd invited Wells to come along for a meeting in the office of Jake and Abby Griffin, owners of Griffin Laboratories, well, it was like Christmas day for the eager boy who dreamed of becoming a scientist. Clarke couldn’t have cared less about her parents experiments or “ground-breaking science,” she just wished they would spend more time by her side than in the lab.

"What is it you're doing again?" she asked mindlessly, working on the contour of his shoulders.

She could hear the serious demeanor break as a smile briefly took control. She wasn't paying attention, but she knew Wells well enough to know the smug look on his face.

"I told you, Clarke! It's a secret! _All_ I can say is that everyone says it's super important, and he's really proud of me for volunteering to help out," he beamed.

The shape of his eyes was off and she wasn't crazy about the way his nose turned out, but Clarke signed the bottom of the portrait and ripped it off with exuberance.

"It's not my best work, but here it is," she announced dramatically. She handed the portrait to Wells who radiated joy. After taking a moment to examine the picture, he leapt from his seat and gave Clarke a bear hug. 

"It's just like my dad's pictures! He's gonna think it's so cool!" Wells beamed. "I can't wait to show him. Thanks Clarke!" 

And with that excitement and flurry still hanging in the air, Wells was gone. Clarke rolled her eyes and stood in the aftermath of the interaction, oblivious to the fact that that was the last time she would see Wells so happy, so radiant, so alive.

 

\----------

_Wells was a good boy; a hard worker, a friend to all, a wonderful son..._  

Clarke sat in the manicured grass among the masses in black, blending in and standing out all at once. She wasn't included among the grown-up's hushed conversations, but she heard her name whispered in every one of their quiet sobs. Prayers, grief, condolences, and thoughts to the young girl who'd lost her best friend, for the young girl who'd lost her _only_ friend.

_He was a breath of fresh air and brought brightness everywhere he went ..._

Clarke idly fiddled with the blade of grass in between her fingers. The eulogy continued on, but she wasn't there to listen, not really. She was lost in thought. She thought of the last time she'd heard Wells' laugh, saw the scar on his left knee, or made fun of his toothy grin. She'd forever remember the way they gazed up at the stars through his new telescope, and how he was the perfect patient for all the times Clarke played doctor. How he had called her every morning the week she had pink eye to ask how she was doing, and always sent her post cards from every place he traveled with his father. Clarke loved him with every fiber of her being, and now he was gone.

_The warmth of his soul showed at a young age. His charisma was infectious -- his smile even more so ..._

Clarke's mind wandered back to their last meeting in the tree house and she cursed at her impatience with him. She'd been so annoyed with his fidgeting, his excitement. She had only cared about her picture, her stupid, stupid picture and not the boy who was in it.

A gentle hand landed on her shoulder and ripped her from the painful memory. Clarke looked up to see the swollen eyes of her mother, sympathetic and warm.

"Clarke, honey," she whispered, eyes traveling towards the ground. Clarke followed her gaze to see lawn torn from its roots, grass free from its chain to the ground, dirt caked under her fingernails and littered all over her legs. She hadn't even realized she'd torn it up.

"It's time to go," Abby Griffin explained, crouching down near her daughter.

Clarke spoke no words, only stared at the newly turned soil in front of her. She thought of Wells in this dirt. Wells -- the fastest runner in their school, the most exuberant dancer, the boy who radiated energy -- in the cold, hard dirt forever. He'd never run again, never race her across the yard again, never climb the ladder to their tree house again. He'd never _anything_ again. Tears pricked at her eyes as she brushed the treacherous soil off of her hands and frantically picked at her fingernails. She hated this dirt, this funeral, this cemetery. She hated everything and everyone. She only wanted Wells.

 

 

That very evening, Clarke sat alone on the treehouse’s lone tire swing -- the one that was big enough for two, but now only held one. She spun herself slowly, staring into a divet in the dirt she created with her feet. Surprisingly, her mind was blank. There was no more crying to be done, no more sad memories to bring forth, no more talking about it with grown-ups.

Clarke sat through so many talks in the week since his death, but no voices penetrated her mind. No voices ever would. She held tight to the truth in her heart, the one that had to make sense – Wells was here, Wells went to work at Griffin Laboratories with her parents, Wells died. That was the order of what had happened. He volunteered for their newest experiment, needing children under the age of twelve whose parents could keep their mouths shut about the details of the new work. Who better than the neighbor boy, whose father worked for the government? Their desire to keep secrets put poor Wells in the crossfire of their stupid science. He’s gone, it’s their fault. She could barely look them in the eyes.

“Do you miss him a lot?”

Clarke looked up to see a small girl, about the size of her, standing in front of the swing. Where did she come from? Clarke certainly didn’t hear her come up, but then again, she was so focused on Wells. Her hair was long and brown, half pulled back in a braid. She had deep brown eyes that bored into Clarke, waiting for an answer.

“Who are you?” Clarke asked, looking around. “Do you live around here?” She must be a lost, nosy neighbor, wandering the yards.

“You look lonely. Can I join you?” She asked, and began to approach the tire swing. Clarke recoiled.

“No! It belongs to Wells. Only he can sit here,” Clarke yelled. “No one else can ever sit here.”

“Wells is gone, Clarke,” the girl responded cooly. “He died in Griffin Laboratories, with your parents and his father.”

Clarke stared at her with shock and anger. “Who are you?! You can’t talk about him!” Clarke began to yell, and the tears escaped as well, flowing freely down her raw cheeks. She folded down into herself, sobbing and shaking the rope in anger.

The girl approached slowly, placing a soft hand on Clarke. She should have pushed her away, but the hand was comforting. Clarke still didn’t know who this girl was, but at this point, she didn’t care. She was lost in her own sadness again.

“I can take care of them for you, Clarke,” the girl whispered. “Your parents shouldn’t be able to get away with what they did to him. You know this in your heart,” a soft hand pulled Clarke’s chin up from where it rested on her collarbones. “Wells deserved better than that, and I can make it better for you. You don’t have to worry about a thing. You’ll have ten whole years of happiness ahead of you, I promise.” 

Clarke was beyond confused but the words struck a chord in her. Someone who finally believes that her parents had something to do with his death, something more than the “freak accident” everyone keeps talking about. Clarke felt confirmation in her beliefs and nodded at the girl, agreeing to what she was saying. Clarke’s parents needed this as much as she did. They always taught her to own up to what she did, so this was going to be for the better. Would they be put in jail? Taken to court? Clarke didn’t care, only that the world saw what she did.

“You can help me?” Clarke whispered under her breath. “I just want what’s best for Wells.”

“Absolutely, Clarke. I can help you. Is that a yes?” the girl’s gaze remained locked on Clarke’s.

“Yes.”

It was more of a breath than a whisper, but it was all that was necessary. Suddenly, the young girl leaned in and pushed a brush of a peck onto Clarke’s lips. Clarke pulled back and stared at the girl, but she just smiled widely and turned, skipping off into the tall brush between the estates. Clarke should have yelled for her name, or asked what all of that was for, but the only thing Clarke could think about was that for a moment there after the strange kiss she could have _swore_ that the girl’s eyes looked entirely black for just a second.

 

 

Early the next morning, television screens across the world were tuned into a single, heartbreaking story.

 

_Griffin Laboratories’ very own Jake and Abby Griffin, along with colleague and Head of National Security Thelonius Jaha, died mysteriously in their sleep last night. No foul play is assumed at this point, but autopsies have been ordered on the three. This comes just a week after the accidental death of Jaha’s only son, Wells Jaha, in Griffin Laboratories downtown Arkadia. Neither the Griffin’s nor Jaha were suspected in Wells’ death, and investigations will continue as police work to uncover possible links or motives between these two incidents. Jake and Abby Griffin leave behind their only daughter, Clarke._

 

The investigation went on for months before the press lost interest in the lack of leads. There was no foul play, no toxins, and everyone was in pristine health before their sudden deaths. It was filed and categorized under “unsolved cases,” only to resurface every few years in _True Crime_ specials or _People_ Magazine specials. The world, too, forgot about the lone Griffin that remained in the wake of the tabloids and interviews, entirely alone.

**Author's Note:**

> What did you guys think???? I'd love to hear from you!


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